A Strange Game
by MamaMonstrosity
Summary: "Come closer, my dear. Allow me to violate you in the most sensual way..." When an odd young schoolteacher and her husband move into the neighborhood, Skarr discovers a certain propensity for some twisted little games... and teaching. This is a story centered around Skarr in Endsville, and an OC to help him along with... things. Will be rated M later on for explicit sexual content.
1. Layers

One of the most fascinating things about humans is their ability to possess layers. Layers to their mental state, their self-worth, their emotions… And, of course, not every human possesses the same levels. But for every human being (or non-human), there is the person that presents himself to the outside world. This is the person that wishes to be seen and judged: the best foot forward, as it were. This person makes a show of appearing to have all his ducks in a row, all his cards in hand. Their life is ideal, as far as you know, and who are you to argue? Now and again some event will occur that will shift that opinion, the veil slipping to reveal that all is not as perfect and vanilla as one would hope to make it seem. Over time, the image one wishes to present becomes perfected. Look at my simple, average house, he will say. Look at my simple car I keep moderately clean, taking it for drives into town for groceries or perhaps my dry cleaning. Look at my modest paycheck I earn from working my simple job, which funds my average life. Observe my nice, clean lawn with all its pretty little flowers planted in rows.  
Meticulously, mathematically-crafted rows.  
Spotless petals fanned out in perfect rays of color across a painstakingly-manicured lawn, like a sea of dark green kept clean of any debris Mother Nature would dare vomit upon it. This beautiful testament to a dramatic shift between an old life and a new one. And, possibly, one of the first signs of obsessive madness.  
But we get ahead of ourselves.  
The story we find here does not delve into the depths of insanity. Not yet. First we get acquainted with our subjects, their lives, their first layers we encounter.  
This is Billy.  
Billy is an idiot.  
This is not said to insult him. It is a scientific, documented fact. This level of idiocy is so astounding that it cannot be considered a handicap so much as a talent. The boy is, frankly, gifted. And if you cannot tell by looking at his carefree smile etched into his pudgy, ten-year-old face, you might be able to see the brain cells dying in his head if you look into his empty, beady eyes. As he hummed a nonsensical song to himself, he bounced down the sidewalk. This is not an exceptionally odd habit for most ten-year-old boys (for children generally _are_ carefree most of the time), so the first opinion one might form about Billy is that he is happy, but perhaps not a happy brain surgeon or rocket scientist. That was fine with the boy. It was how he chose to present himself. Only those who knew Billy, personally spoken with the child, had a grasp on his true nature. His inner destructive persona, an immature, sugar-driven maniac bent on loving everything to _death. _But perhaps one should not turn the little boy away. After all, he can't really mean it.  
The people of Endsville have found by now, however, that it doesn't really matter if the boy means it or not. Where his feet touch the ground chaos and irritation follow, and the people want nothing to do with that, thank you. Most avoid the child as much as they can, or send him away as quickly as possible. Fortunately for these same people, they can return to the comfort of their own homes, lock their doors against the world, and forget their troubles (like Billy) for the day.  
Unless, of course, Billy comes knocking on your door.  
For the neighbors on across the street from Billy, this was not a problem, as the boy's attention span was so short he would become distracted half-way across the street if he did not focus or have his goal written on his hand. For his next-door neighbor, fortune was not so giving. It didn't take much to walk eight steps past his own front gate and through his neighbor's.  
That's just what he did. He sidled through the carefully-painted wooden gate, ignoring the fact that it had been locked and he had just forced his way in and broken the iron lock on the other side. The piece of metal bounced to a stop before the boy's worn sneakers, and he became preoccupied with kicking it towards the steps to the front door. The grass around him sparkled lightly after a fresh sprinkling and bees hummed somewhere off to the side. Billy continued to kick the metal towards the house, using all his mental facilities to keep it in a straight path on the bleached walkway. He kept his narrowed eyes on the clanking black piece and brought his foot back farther than before, intent on kicking it straight to the front step. He was already counting on the loud, obnoxious noise it would make. He brought his foot forward, hard, and kicked the piece in a wide arch up into the air.  
It connected with the bridge of his neighbor's nose.  
Billy huffed, disappointed that metal-on-bone did not make the musical _clang _he had been expecting. His neighbor, one Reginald Skarr, made his own very interesting sound, however. Something between a yelp and a sneeze. He clamped his hands over his face, ducking down in case there was a second attack to come.  
"_AUGH!"  
_"Well, don't cry about it, Mr. Skarr," was Billy's response. The middle-aged man looked up through a teary eye, face half-hidden by his hands.  
"_I'm not crying!" _he snapped. The protest was muffled slightly.  
"It's hard to tell since you only gots one eye. Are you _sure _you're not crying? Sometimes when I cry—"  
"_I don't care!_" Skarr shot back, straightening and tearing his hands away from his face.  
"—my nose runs and it's like my nose is crying too. HEY, your nose is running!" Billy pointed to the blood trickling down his neighbor's face, clearly from his nose, "So you _are _crying!"  
"I'm not crying, you _little, annoying __**PEST.**_ _Get off my lawn!"_ The main pointed towards the street with one long, bony finger, ignoring the blood dripping onto his flower-printed shirt.  
"I just came over to see if you wanted to play," Billy said lightly, shoving his hands into his pants pockets.  
"_**NO!" **_Skarr bellowed, pointing again, "You know you aren't welcome on my property, you little nuisance! _Go away!"_ His face had turned almost as red as the blood on it, and a vein had crept up onto his temple. Billy was either unimpressed or had not noticed, and frankly either one was equally likely.  
"So…. Tomorrow, then?"  
Skarr bent and picked up the metal lock that had broken his nose. He hurled it back at the boy. The lock whistled as it sailed over Billy's head and embedded itself deep into the wooden fence behind him.  
"You missed!" Billy laughed. His high-pitched giggle was almost drowned out by a growl from his neighbor.  
"And tell your parents they can expect a bill for that lock you broke!" With nothing more he was willing to throw at the child, blunt objects or insults, Reginald Skarr turned and retreated back into his house, slamming the heavy door behind him. Several clicks were heard as a multitude of locks were shifted into place. Billy began to amuse himself by singing a mocking mantra at the silent house until he eventually lost track of what he was doing and turned around on his heels, intent on going back to his own house, possibly to ease his nagging appetite for something deep-fried and cheesy.

We join Reginald Skarr inside his home for the continuation of this chapter.  
The man seethed and muttered to himself as he poured a glass of whiskey. He did hope that the stress of living in this neighborhood wouldn't be the cause of some crippling alcohol addiction. So far he seemed to be doing alright, however. He loathed the boy. With every fiber of his body and soul he despised the child and all his neighbors. It was an exhausting thing, so much hatred. But for all his utter and extreme loathing, his unmatched rage for them all, he still found himself making the effort to present a different side to them all. Why else would he spend so long on his yard? It was a habit that kept his heart from exploding, true, but it was something for them to walk by and witness. Something simple and average for them to acknowledge. He wasn't a bad person. He did not deserve scorn or jeers from them, did he? Why, no. Just look at his yard. Look at his simple house and his normal daily routines.  
"I'm a good neighbor…" he hissed under his breath before throwing the drink back. He had to keep telling himself that or he would surely send himself off the deep end.  
Reginald Skarr had many, many layers. All of them were deeply hidden, most of them dark, a few of them explicitly unsavory, and at least two were completely unspeakable. The garden was the only outlet he allowed himself because it was the only thing he could see himself doing (without going to jail) that was beneficial to his own mental state.  
Truth be told, it all stemmed from his overwhelming need for control and order. Years in military service can do that to a man.  
He sat at his kitchen table and poured himself another drink. His deeper layers showed their faces in fleeting ways so long as he was in his garden. The meticulous way he organized the plants, planned their landscaping for optimal aesthetics, or the way he kept everything so trim and clean, that was his need for order in this psychotic city. He had no one to command him and likewise no one to command, therefor he needed to manufacture a situation in which he was granted some form of power over lesser beings. In this case, those beings were plants. Pathetic? Maybe, he thought, sipping from his glass as he stared out his kitchen window. But he took solace in the fact that if he ever _did_ decide to take control over _real_ people again, they wouldn't like that, now, would they?  
No, of course not.  
So they really all ought to have been grateful. Rather than laying siege to this horrendous neighborhood, he ripped weeds out of the ground and mulched them into nothing. Rather than enslaving hundreds—thousands—of people, he slaved away in dirt and grass to achieve some small scrap of perfection. It was laborious. It was not very fruitful. But it was something. He took another sip, his mind wandering as it pleased.  
Reginald Skarr's darker layers liked to crop up without his notice. The way he could have easily killed Billy with nothing more than a metal lock, but chose not to, showed his odd level of restraint. He _needed_ to fit in among the people of Endsville. He didn't _want _to be evil and malicious anymore.  
Too taxing.  
These were just the very general sides to the man that was Reginald Skarr. Only two very broad categories by which one could group all his little quirks and tendencies into.  
Just as his heart rate had begun to slow, he heard the familiar, but ominous, chime of his doorbell.  
Skarr only ever got two visitors.  
And Ernest never used the doorbell. He preferred to stare into the window until the door was opened for him.  
Skarr finished his drink and set the glass aside, mentally counting up and down from one to ten, over and over and over again. He didn't think he would survive two episodes in one day. Despite his habitual exercise to calm his nerves, he found his heart pounding and his frown deepening the closer he got to the door. With his jaw clenched tight, he went through the arduous task of undoing every single lock (seven) on his door. The doorbell rang again and a vein popped up on his temple again. He threw the door open, chest puffed and fist clenched tight as his side.  
"_**WHAT?!**_ What do you _**want**_-?!" He did not react fast enough to stop the words from flying out of his mouth (along with some very angry spittle), though he did have the human decency to regret them once he said them.  
The woman at the door was not Ernest or Billy, and her tiny, chubby hand was still poised at the doorbell to ring it again. Her mouth fell open slightly at the sudden outburst and arrival of such a loud, angry man towering over her.  
Though Skarr did not like neighbors (or really, anyone for that matter), he had the sense to at least know that, to him, this short, rather round woman had not yet done anything to deserve getting yelled at.  
Or spit on.  
For a moment they only stood there, him trying to recover mentally, standing just as straight and angrily as before, and her frozen like a deer in headlights. Seeing that her face was not likely to change out of its fearful expression without some enticing, he took a deep, calming breath through his still-broken nose.  
"Can… I help you." It wasn't really a question. He wasn't in a giving mood. The woman's gray eyes shot down to his blood-stained shirt, then back up to his face, lingering on his bloodied nose and blind eye. Her mouth opened and closed once, like a fish out of water, before she managed a small squeak.  
"Tea," was all she could say. He frowned more, tilting his head slightly at her.  
"I beg your pardon?" The woman dropped her arm to her side, taking a small step back and clearing her throat.  
"I… am unpacking… my kitchen boxes…" she began, "And I cannot seem to find any of my teas." She fiddled with the edge of her sleeve, looking back down to the blood on his shirt.  
"Tea," he repeated, tilting his head back up.  
"I was wondering if you perhaps had some I might use for the evening since I am certain no more unpacking will be done tonight but I see you are terribly busy and I must ask you excuse my interruption." As she spoke she took another careful step back. It took him a moment to process that this was an actual, genuine outreach for something simple, not a trap or a snide joke of some sort. This round, red-haired little woman was not likely to be a threat, anyhow.  
"Yes. Tea," he said again, nodding, "Wait right here." He disappeared back into his house, closing the door. The woman stopped on the walkway, looking up at the door, then around. She wanted to be sure that if something unsavory were to befall her, one of the neighbors might see.  
Skarr peered through his peephole down at the warped image of the stranger. She fidgeted on the concrete and twiddled her pudgy fingers nervously.  
Not much of a threat at all.  
He watched for just a bit longer, frowning and thinking, before heading back into his kitchen. He opened a cabinet above his stove and took down a box. A fleeting thought crossed his mind:_ What tea does she want?_ He huffed, taking out a few small teabags.  
"She'll take what I give her," he reasoned crossly, putting the box back into the cabinet.  
When he looked through the peephole again, she was still there.  
That alone was a surprise.  
She was looking off to the side, much less nervously now. She appeared to be scrutinizing the left side of his front lawn. He frowned heavily. People had every right to look, not to linger. He opened the door again, much less forcefully than before and held out his hand to her, offering the teabags. She jumped slightly, looking up quickly. He said nothing and kept his hand out, scowling.  
Hesitantly, the woman stepped up and carefully took the bags from him.  
"…Thank you, sir," she said, withdrawing her hand quickly. He raised an eyebrow.  
"You're welcome. What were you looking at?"  
"Beg pardon?"  
"What. Were you. Looking. At?" he repeated, a slight growl in his voice. The woman blinked.  
"….you have a very lovely yard," she said. This time, he blinked. For his part, he recovered quickly, deciding that dwelling would surely set himself up for some misfortune or ruse.  
"Well. Thank you," he replied, already closing the door, "Good evening."  
The woman took a step back as the door shut in her face. She cast a quick look over the front door again as she heard a series of clicks. She backed up another step, stumbling slightly onto the walkway, before she turned and started walking hurriedly away. As she left the property, she shut the gate, and, finding there was no lock, hurried down the street to return to her own home. But not before the same strange man she had just encountered watched her retreating figure through his peephole yet again. Watching in suspicion and…. slight admiration for that rather shapely aforementioned form.


	2. Juliet

Juliet Greyson was not the sort of woman to frighten easily. She taught fourth graders, for goodness' sake. And she was quite used to getting yelled at, too. Her husband was very good at that. So the man who had shouted at her the minute he opened his door was not so very frightening in his actions. He was just surprising in general. Perhaps the _most_ surprising thing about him was his appearance, there was no way around that. She didn't mean the fact that he had a long, pale scar crossing over his left eye or the fact that the eye itself was milky-white and completely blind no doubt. He appeared to have been bleeding (quite a lot, really) and yet did not seem bothered by it in the least. Had he not known he had been bleeding? Should she have brought it to his attention? At any rate, the moment had passed and she had scurried back to her own home and buried herself back among all the cardboard boxes inside it. Her brain churned over the frightening experience as her hands robotically added tea to water to kettle to stove. Arthur would be home within the hour, and though he did not much care for tea he would still prefer to have the option to drink some, and would be sore if not given said option. Juliet leaned on the counter, thinking. Out of all the neighbors to have run into, of course she'd waltz right up to the only one that was bleeding on the whole block. Bleeding and angry. But despite all that, he had consented to give her some of his own tea. That was considerate. Right?  
Of course it was right. She chastised herself for jumping to an opinion based on appearance. Who's to say he didn't just have a nasty fall before she rang his bell? Why, that would explain his anger, certainly. And the blood. Perhaps he had even fallen on the way to answer the door? Juliet huffed quietly under her breath as she realized she was making up scenarios in her head yet again to explain away something unpleasant. A terrible habit, really. But she certainly had no room to judge on appearance. This somber, sobering thought brought her out of her own head and directed her attention to the stove again, the kettle whistling shrilly for her. She pulled a large cup out of the cupboard, only recently filled with dishes, and poured the hot tea. She sighed at the smell. It was Oriental. Oolong, by the smell, but she preferred Earl Grey. Again, who was she to judge? She should be grateful to have any tea.  
She heard the front door open and close as she waited for the tea to cool. She took a small breath and poured a bit of milk into her cup, stirring it with a small spoon.  
"No boxes unpacked, but you still managed a cup of tea, eh?" Juliet cut her eyes sharply to the left, biting back a retort.  
"I unpacked several boxes, Arthur," she responded crisply.  
"And where are they?"  
"They what?"  
"The empty boxes, woman." Juliet wrinkled her nose slightly, keeping her gaze fixed on her cup.  
"I flattened them and threw them away."  
"We could have saved those, you know. For storage. Do you ever think ahead, or is it a challenge to go day by day for you? Don't answer that." Juliet had no intention of answering that anyway. He was a frustrating man to argue with, and she knew that if she had said she had decided to save the boxes, he would insist that she was unnecessarily cluttering up their new house and she should learn to let things go.  
This was not their first verbal tango.  
Arthur set his bag down on one of the few spaces available on the counter, crossing his long, thin arms, and watched the small woman stir her tea.  
"You're going to work when?" he asked.  
"Tomorrow," Juliet replied simply, taking a small sip from her cup. Arthur snorted once.  
"Good. It isn't like there's any work to be done around here."  
"Your sarcasm is so refreshing," Juliet muttered, turning and making her way towards one of the kitchen windows. Arthur followed her on her heels.  
"That sounded a bit snippy. You weren't being snippy, were you, my dear?" Juliet tightened her grip on her cup and lowered her head slightly, taking another sip as she stared out the window to the darkening back yard.  
"No, dear. Never snippy." Arthur, of course, did not believe that for a moment. He planted a large, spidery hand on the wall beside the woman's head and leaned over her. She could hear the scowl in his words.  
"I hope you enjoy work tomorrow," was all he said. His voice was like ice, but everything about the man was. From his light blonde hair to his cold blue eyes, nothing but ice. Juliet was quite used to it. This was a threat, she knew it was. And he knew she knew it. He did not wish her well at her work because he wanted for her to enjoy her day. He wanted her to enjoy her freedom outside the house while it lasted, because they both knew that the minute she got home, with him being better rested and in a worse mood from the day's unpacking, that she would certainly not enjoy her evening at home tomorrow.

Juliet did not enjoy her day at her new job. Endsville Elementary was a cesspool in the worst sense of the word. She had no idea that children could ever be so destructive. Or brutal.  
Or creepy.  
She was exhausted by ten, and class had only begun at eight. It was a full-time hassle running around trying to maintain some form of order over the children in her class. There were only eighteen of the little things, how could she be so tired? They weren't particularly _bad _children, it's just that they clearly were not used to being disciplined. And Juliet was not one to discipline anyway. The principal was of no help. Frankly he seemed very used to all the chaos, the mess, the destruction, and the smells. Juliet had decided by lunch that this was not an elementary school; it was an asylum, and nobody had warned her about it. The other teachers either would not discuss ways of maintaining control or looked on in amusement as the young woman struggled to reign in her students.  
At recess, she found herself asking the other teachers if it was always like this. One woman, an older, thinner teacher with a disinterested, cynical face, only glanced at her over her fourth cup of coffee (that most certainly didn't _smell_ like coffee) and said, "Like what?" before taking another sip. This woman possibly had a bunch even worse than Juliet's. They seemed to listen to her though. She had an odd method. It appeared she flipped back and forth between staring the children down and barking at them over the din of the playground. Not very effective, according to what Juliet had learned in her teaching classes. But maybe that was just how American students worked. Maybe they needed tough love and harsh voices to understand their inappropriateness. Although it did not _cure_ their behavior, it at least curbed it. Just enough so that the tubby boy with the drawn-on tattoo and ripped shirt sleeves had the decency to bully children behind the jungle gym and out of his teacher's line of sight. Juliet felt genuinely helpless.  
Being a new teacher, she wasn't sure if this was typical or not. Certainly the children she had been exposed to had been younger.  
And English.  
The more she thought about it, the less concerned she became. After all, they were just children. It's very likely that they hadn't yet gotten used to her and were acting out. Give it a week, she had told herself.  
One week later, Juliet Greyson wasn't sure if she was dead, alive, dreaming, or even real. How is it that eighteen ten-year-olds cause so much sleeplessness? Day after day she struggled to earn just one hour of compliance. Slowly, slowly she seemed to be winning them over. She was not a pushover. She would not tolerate rule-breaking. It's just that when the rules were broken, they were broken in such a fantastic manner that she would be forced to reconsider all her life choices. No pets in school, that includes that piece of road kill you have there. No sleeping in class, regardless of that sleeping bag and portable heater you brought with you. No cheating, that means no tossing another student out the window when you think I'm not looking so you can take their test and change the name at the top. The children were wild. Seemingly invincible. They only seemed normal about an hour before school got out. Only then were they responsive like actual human beings. Only then would they appear to be retaining the information Juliet had been attempting all day to give them. Then the hour would be up and the children would pack their things and go. Juliet would pause on her way out the door to pity the janitor that must come through her classroom. But she couldn't dwell.  
Every night at home she faced a similar unpleasant situation. Arthur was the breadwinner of the pair, and he knew it. When he wasn't cutting her down for her soft-spoken personality or for her plus-sized figure, he was degrading her job and her aspirations. He said awful things to her, and for the most part she blocked them out. Unpacking their boxes was slow going between the two working all day and only coming home for the evening. Juliet had things to grade and Arthur had cases to review. The upcoming weekend appeared to be their best bet for a final push at officially moving into their new home. Still, Juliet worked diligently and deliberately as her husband watched from his armchair, sorting through boxes of books and tossing to the side those he felt weren't worthy to sit on the shelves in the living room. Nearly all of Juliet's books lay in a crumpled heap.  
"You read too many damn romance novels. What're you looking for in these blasted things?" he demanded, tossing another one away in disgust. Juliet did not respond, only blushed a soft, powder-pink. She was organizing the acceptable books and arranging them on the shelf. Nearly all of them were law books. One of them was a Bible bound in black leather. She kept her scoff silent when she put it up. Arthur had likely never touched the book, let alone opened it. He was all about appearance, that's all. When she had emptied her box, Arthur kicked the second one over to her. It slid across the floor and came to a stop right beside her. Without hesitating she started to put those away too.  
"I asked you a question." Juliet looked over her shoulder.  
"I'm sorry?" she asked, before looking back at the shelf.  
"I asked you if you were going to throw all these little paperbacks of yours out," Arthur replied coolly, motioning to the pile of crumpled novels. Juliet glanced at them as she continued to stock the shelves.  
"No, I'm not. Those are—"  
"And why not?"  
"…as I was saying, those are mine. I like them, and I would like to keep them."  
Arthur huffed softly, standing up and moving to pick up the empty boxes.  
"They're useless. And disgusting. Poorly made. Trashy." He paused in his listing, "Rather like you, now that I think of it." Juliet hunched her back against the insult, steeling herself against the cold words, frowning bit harder. After a beat, she continued to put the books away. Arthur tsked from behind her, flattening the boxes and stacking them in front of his feet.  
"Come now, Juliet, it's no fun when you don't get red-faced and sweaty like a disgruntled pig."  
"I'm working, Arthur."  
"For once." She heard retreating footsteps and sighed heavily, narrowing her eyes. All she would need to do is leave. She cringed at the thought, and not for the first time. Juliet had been with Arthur since her tenth year in school. She was terrified of what it might be like to be alone. Perhaps at home, it might have been easier, but here across the pond she's missed her opportunity. To leave now would cut her off from any sort of stability and connection she had. She supposed she could always go home to her mother, but the divorce would take ages, and be very expensive. Not to mention that Arthur was in charge of all their accounts. She could be completely cut off. No money, no friends, no options. She huffed again under her breath and continued to shelve books. She was a strong woman. She could take this. If she had survived a week at that school, of course she could survive this.  
Juliet dusted off her hands and made her way to the kitchen. She needed another cup of tea to get rid of her bruised feelings and her slight headache. Once she had set the water on the stove she reached instinctively for her tin of tea and found that it was not there. Juliet blinked and looked around the counter space, most of which was clear. Her tin was nowhere to be found. Juliet was in no mood to speak to Arthur again to ask him where he had put it, and instead set about searching the cupboards for it. After ten minutes of careful searching (even rifling through some of the boxes on the floor) Juliet had almost given up and would have settled instead for a cup of coffee, had she not seen something in the sink. Little, dark clumps of something piled up in the drain.|  
They were tea leaves. Juliet was stung, but not surprised. Arthur enjoyed taking away her little pleasures. This was not the first time he had gotten rid of her drinks or foods down the sink. She crossed her chubby arms and glared down at the ruined leaves for a few minutes, before washing them down the drain. This would only mean that she would have to buy some more at the store tomorrow, that's all. An easy fix. She would not be upset about it. That would be silly.  
She reaffirmed her plan in her head as she gathered her romance novels in a small box and taped it up. Yes, she would just buy her own tomorrow. It would only be a few dollars. And then she would hide it. Just like she must hide everything that made her even the slightest bit happy. She frowned bitterly as she stowed her books on the top shelf of the hall closet with some difficulty, barely tall enough to do so. She would hide her tea and her books in the same spot. Arthur was mean, he was a brute, really, but he wasn't as determined as she was. She was used to his treatment of her, but that didn't mean she would roll completely over for him. She nodded to herself as she shut the door. This was week one out of the way.  
Now that wasn't so hard.


	3. Propriety and Non

"The trouble with pricing is tax," Juliet muttered to herself, picking up a small bag of tangerines and taking note of its green price tag, "$3.99 indeed. And seven cents a dollar. That's twenty-one cents… ninety-nine and twenty-one make…" She huffed and reassured herself that a five-dollar bill would cover it. Why not just put the full price on the tag and be rid of the unpleasant surprise at the register? She wasn't the sharpest at math. Her little outing on this Saturday afternoon seemed more like a mental challenge than an enjoyable excursion. It was tough to be frugal when you didn't have a complete understanding of the monetary system just yet. Give it another month, she would have it down.  
She added the tangerines to her basket and kept a general total in her head. She came for tea and she would be leaving with a few things extra. But wasn't that always the way? After picking up a carton of milk, a box of soda crackers, and the tangerines, she felt the only thing that remained was what she had originally ventured out for.  
Not that she was in a hurry to go home, mind you. Juliet drifted down the tea aisle, which had been apparently merged with the various brands of coffee and powdered flavorings for water. She was about halfway down the aisle when she finally began to see what she was looking for.  
"Certainly nothing Oriental," she said softly, her gray eyes scanning the labels and the flavors.  
"Nothing Oriental. So glad my act of courtesy displeased you," droned a voice from beside her. Juliet jumped slightly and turned her head.  
"Oh, it's you!" she said. Whether it was from surprise or nervousness, she wasn't sure. It was the same man, the man from up the street. He did not look at her nor did he seem at all perturbed by her reaction to his presence. He simply reached up and grabbed a box of tea bags, reading the label. Juliet adjusted her stance slightly, glancing between him and the shelves.  
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to sound so—"  
"Shocked? Even crazed, blood-covered men like to go grocery shopping now and again," the man interrupted, putting the box back and grabbing another. He made a displeased face and quickly replaced it.  
"That isn't what I meant… it just… surprised me that anyone had snuck up on me as you did."  
"I didn't _sneak_," he replied, reaching in front of her face for a small orange box, "You have very poor perception skills." Juliet huffed quietly, frowning at the hand before her, and then watched it retreat back to its owner.  
"Not that poor."  
"Oh, quite poor. I've been listening to you talk to yourself almost since you arrived." Juliet frowned slightly, reaching up for a gray and blue box.  
"Have you? You've been following me?"  
"Not at all," he answered, "You have a very loud mumble." Juliet dropped the box into her basket and put her hand on her hip.  
"I don't _mumble_," she scoffed. He turned his head and looked at her for the first time since the beginning of their conversation.  
"There. You did it just then." The shorter woman turned back to the shelves, annoyed but not annoyed or rude enough to cut the conversation short and leave the man in the tea aisle. After a few seconds of watching him select his tea of choice out of the corner of her eye, she piped up again.  
"Despite what I said, I would like to thank you for letting me use those teabags." He paused for the briefest second, then dropped box into the cart and began walking away.  
"You're welcome," was all he said. Juliet blinked, then took a few steps to follow him.  
"I hope you don't think I was rude for holding a negative opinion over Oriental… It's only a preference," she explained. He didn't turn his head or stop walking.  
"I understand that," he said nonchalantly, turning the corner and going down another aisle. Juliet frowned again and hopped once to catch up to him. Her legs were much shorter than his, and he was by far more aerodynamic than she.  
"It's just I find the taste too flowery," she continued.  
"Are you following me now?"  
"I'm not _following _you," she replied crisply, "I'm just… continuing the conversation till we've had a proper farewell." Here the man stopped short, and the little woman bounced off of him. He didn't move a bit and only turned his head slightly. She could only see his blind eye, but she could swear it must have been looking at her. She took two steps back, tightening her grip on her basket.  
"… And what would you deem a proper farewell, madam? I'd very much like to continue my shopping without frivolous small-talk." Juliet puffed her cheeks, turning a slight pink in frustration.  
"_Well_, perhaps I shan't bother you anymore."  
"Only perhaps?"  
"I won't then!" she snapped, then shrank back slightly at the tone in her own voice. She looked around to see if anyone else had heard. Apart from an odd look from a very old man, she didn't see any reason to believe so. The tall, thin man turned his body around to face her and tilted his head in a mildly unnerving way.  
"You get frustrated very easily, you know. Very rude."  
"You're one to talk," she shot back, though quieter than before. He blinked.  
"Would you like to answer my question now?" Juliet narrowed her eyes and crossed her arms, clenching her basket in one small fist.  
"What question is that?"  
"Your definition of a proper farewell; I believe I inquired about it." The red-haired woman made an exasperated noise, dropping her arms.  
"That'll do!" She waved a hand carelessly at him and turned to leave the aisle.  
"That wasn't much better than my exit," he pointed out. Juliet turned on her heel.  
"I would very much loathe to be compared to you," she said haughtily, turning her small, round nose up. His head straightened and when it did she suddenly felt as if her were towering over her. He very nearly was.  
"The feeling is mutual, I assure you," he shot back lowly. Juliet did not flinch away from his tone this time; she only straightened up and met his glare evenly.  
"Since you are so clearly lacking in simple manners, allow me to point out that a proper farewell is done after a proper hello."  
"Neither of which you have explained," he accused. She pursed her lips.  
"What. Is your name…?" She took a breath, determined to reign the conversation in before it became cut off from either of their tempers. He hesitated, as if deciding if the small, round woman before him was worthy of such information. It must have been a very difficult decision, because he stood in silence, scrutinizing her, for quite some time.  
"Reginald," he said eventually. The word almost stumbled out of his mouth. Juliet bobbled her head ever-so-slightly, tossing the syllables around before she repeated them.  
"Reginald. Why, that's a very lovely name," she sighed, her flared temper cooling down significantly by the second, "Reginald, thank you very much for your tea the other day. I appreciate your generosity."  
"Laying it on a bit thick, aren't you?" His head tilted again, almost in a teasing way. Juliet's red lips curved into another small frown. They stood in silence until he eventually asked, "What?"  
"You didn't ask my name," she pointed out.  
"I don't care to know it." She let out a tiny sound of surprise, her face flushing red.  
"…fine. There's your proper fare—"  
"On the off chance I did care to know it, what would it be?" Juliet stopped mid-sentence and crossed her arms again.|  
"Interrupting is rude."  
"As is leaving a question unanswered."  
"…Juliet." He did not appear to absorb her name as she had with his.  
"There now. Juliet, you are quite welcome for the tea. And thank you for turning a fifteen-minute shopping trip into a small eternity of painful socializing and pointless conversation."  
She did not have time to retort, because he was walking away before the words had gotten out of his mouth. When he had disappeared around the corner, the woman groaned in frustration and stomped her tiny foot, which she knew was rather petulant but didn't much care at the moment, such was her irritation with her neighbor.

Skarr didn't allow himself to think about the grocery store until he was back inside his home and in the process of putting away his groceries. His face bore a very distinct and disgruntled frown, although if anyone cared to truly notice they would see it was not its usual full-on scowl. He was not necessarily unhappy (at least, no more unhappy than usual), but he was very confused and irritated. He wasn't surprised to have seen the woman, Juliet, at the market. It was a small, local establishment. Most of the neighbors used it. But he was genuinely surprised that she had instigated a conversation with him rather than duck her head and slink to another aisle as if he had the plague. Most did just that on a daily basis.  
Not only had she started the conversation, she kept it going. Rather annoyingly, in fact. She was persistent. And for what? Manners? Those didn't amount to a pile of shit and he knew it. He was not the sort of man people talked to out of _politeness_. Then again, she did seem like a gentle sort of lady. Soft, almost.  
Squishy, perhaps.  
His frown deepened and he shook his head to clear it of pervasive thoughts about accentuating green dresses or wide curves. Maybe the whiskey was starting to wear on his brain cells after all.  
One thing he knew for certain, and he acknowledged it as he put oatmeal in the pantry: as frustrated as he seemed to make her, she didn't once undercut him for… really much of anything. She called him rude, but that wasn't actually false, and therefore perfectly acceptable. She had plenty of space to turn her back and walk away from him, nose in the air. Come to think of it, she didn't have to follow him out of the grounds aisle to begin with.  
"Proper farewell…" he muttered crossly, closing the pantry door. He crossed over to his kitchen table and pulled out his new box of Oolong tea. He paused, looking through the box rather than at it. If she didn't like Oriental teas, what did she like? What was that box she had grabbed and put in her basket? It was gray with blue details… He snorted in mild disgust, crossing to the cupboard over his stove and stowing the box. What did he care, honestly? The more he thought about it, the more he found he didn't _really _care.  
She had sparked his curiosity is all. She was a strange woman, no doubt. That must have been it. She was just an odd, chubby little woman.  
With a poor attitude, he noted.  
He stored his empty bags in a drawer and then leaned on his counter, staring out the kitchen window.  
A poor attitude and a bad blush. Bad complexion altogether. Must be rosacea. A small voice in his head piped up that he was certainly not one to judge on skin conditions or displeasing facial features, but he squashed said voice almost instantly. A bad, easily-achieved blush. And her hair was too curly. There was too much of it. And her hands were… were too tiny. Yes, much too tiny to do any good.  
His thoughts wandered down all the possible difficulties those tiny, white hands may have before he shook his head and reeled back slightly.  
Disgusting.  
Come now.  
No, don't.  
"Damn it all."

Juliet left the grocery store feeling very annoyed. Much more annoyed than she had been when she had left her house that morning after a tense breakfast with her husband. And that was quite a bit annoyed. Arthur's silver car was not in the drive when she came home, and for that she was very grateful. She prayed he had been called away into the firm and she would not have to see him until much later in the evening.  
Once inside her house, she set to putting her few groceries away, muttering to herself as she did.  
"Proper farewell… Only being polite… _Oh, I don't care to know it_... cheeky… _rude_…" She griped and snapped at her carton of milk as she stowed it in the refrigerator, which was really unnecessary because the milk had certainly done nothing at all to Juliet besides being made of delicious almonds and provide a healthy alternative to whole milk. Her poor tangerines had already heard enough out of her complaining over pricing and taxing, but even they were not spared her tirade. But it was therapeutic. Even as Juliet complained, she felt her anger fading.  
What a strange man. How oddly he talked. She wondered in the back of her mind if he talked to all people like that. He must not have very many friends. But suppose he did have friends and he only talked to her like that? Well, he may talk to her any way he would like because it certainly did not compare to the past two years of her life. Juliet dropped heavily onto the love seat in the living room, her muttering now ceased.  
Had she been too pushy? No, of course not. She had thanked him and he was the one who had responded rudely. She was only being civil. Neighborly. She absently traced the pattern on one of the throw pillows with her pinky finger. Maybe her manners had made him uncomfortable. But he certainly sounded English (in some form), he should be used to proper conversation techniques. Unless he had decided, as most tend to, that manners are very time-consuming and growing increasingly trivial. She snorted softly at the thought. The man was at least forty, if she had to guess. He was too old to think of simple etiquette as trivial. That was for younger people.  
People her age.  
She held the pillow in her lap. He was a frustrating man. Why is it he seemed so distant? It was almost mysterious, if in fact he looked to have much mystery about him. She pursed her lips and turned pink across her round face, squeezing the pillow lightly. He was very tall, wasn't he? That didn't have anything to do with mystery. It was just something she had noticed after being stared down by him.  
And his eyes—well, _eye_… it was intense. The blue one, that is. The blind one disturbed her a great deal. She felt like it could see both through her and inside her. To her very core. That, of course, was ridiculous, but she was only recalling how she felt. She delved briefly into Edgar Allen Poe's "Tell-Tale Heart," and empathized with the murdering man on the _most _superficial level. She didn't find it disgusting.  
Only intimidating.  
Everything about the man up the street seemed oddly intimidating. She felt her arms prickle at the thought and hugged the pillow tighter.  
Enough of this.  
She stood and made her way to the hall closet, awkwardly managing to take down the cardboard box filled with her romance novels. She fished one off of the top and hid the box again. She needed a hot bath and a good book, dog-eared from blatant favoritism.  
Before her mind started to wander again.


	4. The Games Begin

"Juliet, where the hell are the potatoes?" Juliet's eyes instinctively rolled up to the ceiling of her bathroom. She shook her head slightly to ease her mild headache and looked back at her reflection. Arthur had been particularly ornery all day.  
And it was only one in the afternoon.  
"I always keep the potatoes on a hook in the pantry," she said crossly, glaring at herself in the mirror.  
"There are _no_ potatoes," her husband insisted loudly through the door. He whacked the door frame impatiently with the flat of his hand, "Get out of there. You're doing nothing but wasting time and energy trying to make yourself presentable. It's like painting a barnyard animal." Juliet's mouth twisted into a hard frown and she turned the sink on full blast to help block him out. She hadn't been in the best of moods, herself. Arthur hit the door again, harder.  
"Juliet! Get out of there now. You can't hide in there all day long. There's dinner to be made and _wrongs _to be _righted._"  
Juliet very much wanted to snap back at him that she very well _could_ stay in the bathroom all day if she so wished, as she had locked the door and Arthur, while rather lean, did not possess the brute strength needed to break it down. Furthermore she had a multitude of magazines and books to keep her occupied, and she did not eat very much. Oh, yes. She could stay in here all day long and well into the night.  
She let out a soft sigh.  
No, she couldn't. The longer she stayed, the more unpleasant Arthur would become. She preferred not to push him too far. He would slip right past unbearable and into abusive. She couldn't take that all day, and that she knew for certain. His insults were already wearing on her.  
Arthur stepped away from the door when he heard the doorknob rattle.  
"And so the bat emerges from her steaming cave. Lot of time for not a lot of change. Happy with yourself?" he inquired, motioning for the bedroom door. Juliet brushed by him quickly, turning her body so he could not grab hold of one her arms.  
"Never, Arthur," she replied sourly, her nose turning up as she crossed the threshold into the corridor. Arthur followed hotly.  
"You've been getting a little snide since the move, my dear. I would hope you don't think of that as a permanent change." There was an edge in his voice.  
"I'd never," she muttered, ducking her head as she strode into the kitchen. She opened the door to the pantry and deflated slightly.  
"There now. You see? I told you." The door closed roughly when Arthur planted his hand on it and leaned in near her face, "You got so uppity for no reason. I'm not a stupid man or a blind one. You can apologize later."  
Juliet turned her face and frowned heavier. She had no intention of apologizing, and Arthur didn't really expect one anyway.  
"There's no need to be childish," Juliet muttered, stepping away from him. The tall blonde leaned on the door and crossed his arms.  
"I'm detecting a hint of bitterness… Well, there's no need for that. It can be fixed, dear." Juliet resisted the urge to roll her eyes again.  
"And what is it you would like me to do, Arthur? I know enough than to think you would solve the problem yourself." Arthur straightened as if struck by electricity and grabbed the smaller woman by her arms. Juliet hunched, frozen in place, tensed in the iron grip of spidery fingers. His hands were always so cold. She could feel them like icy wires through her shirt. They tightened around her soft arms.  
"Let's not play this game today, hm…?" he hissed, lowering his face. He tilted his head at an angle, like a curious cat that had caught a mouse but had not yet decided what to do with it.  
"It's just a new house, Juliet…. The rules have not changed." Juliet tensed again and tried to wretch away. Arthur squeezed her arms tightly and held her in place. His face had slipped from a look of irritation to one of cool indifference. It was how he usually looked. It was the face that frightened her most. He leaned in closer, his lip curling slightly.  
"You know better, don't you…?" Juliet kept her mouth shut tight, partially out of defiance. Mostly out of fear. Arthur tilted his head the other way, waiting for an answer. When he did not receive one, he shook her once, roughly.  
"_Don't you?"_ Juliet squeaked. A mouse indeed. Arthur dug his nails into the backs of her arms.  
"The fantastic part about living in a house, and not a flat," he said softly, "Is that it takes longer for neighbors to hear things through the walls." He pushed the little woman away and straightened again. Juliet stumbled back a few steps and held her hands in front of her, determined not to rub her sore arms until he had left her alone.  
"It also takes longer for them to respond, does it not?" Juliet hesitated.  
"…yes, Arthur."  
"There we go. Go to the market and pick up the potatoes you so stupidly neglected in your last shopping trip." He dug into his pants pocket, pulled out a billfold, and handed over a few bills. Juliet took them quickly.  
"I want the red ones, Juliet. And I want them back here within the next forty-five minutes. Am I clear?" Juliet folded the money carefully, focusing on her fingers to prevent them from shaking quite so much.  
"Yes, Arthur," she replied quietly, taking her purse from the kitchen table and stowing the money. Arthur turned towards the refrigerator and dug out a paper-wrapped steak he had been saving.  
"There we are. I do love a good steak… Only when paired with those lovely little red potatoes you _certainly _ought to be on your way to fetching." He tossed a look over his shoulder, starting to unwrap the meat. Juliet blinked and hurriedly left the kitchen, clutching her purse to her chest tightly. Arthur hummed, looking back at his uncooked dinner, already thinking of the ways he would prepare it, in a much better mood now that he had reestablished order within his home.  
"And don't even think about taking a bite out of any of the vegetables, Juliet. Greedy piggies get punished, you know," he called as the front door shut, taking out a knife and beginning to sharpen it.

Juliet practically fled down the sidewalk, her arms stinging. She could almost feel bruises forming. Part of her felt angry, so angry that Arthur thought he could treat her like that. The other part of her chimed in that, well of course he could. She always let him. And even if she tried to stop him, that's more than a bruise she was liable to earn. The two sides fought loudly for dominance inside her head as she made a bee-line down the street. It was a good thing she did not have to drive to the market. In her trembling, anxious state she was very likely to wreck.  
_And then where would Arthur get his potatoes?_ She thought bitterly. She wiped her eyes on the back of her hand. Rebellious things, tears. Always sneaking out unbeknownst to her. She was in public for goodness' sake. Someone was likely to see—  
_**THUNK.  
**_Juliet jerked violently to the side and toppled into the road, her vision blurring beyond the ability of tears. She shook her head weakly and held a hand to her pounding skull.  
"Nice shot, doofus."  
"Yeah-huh, you think so, Mandy?" There was a thud.  
"Guess not..." the same voice chuckled weakly, slightly muffled. Juliet blinked stars away from her vision and saw a ball near her foot. She squinted at it, rubbing her head tenderly, and looked up in the direction of the voices. Two children peered over a chain-link fence at her. One had an exceedingly unnerving glare and the other appeared to have a mouthful of dirt and grass.  
"Hey lady," snapped the angry-looking child, her blonde-hair spiked up similar to horns one might see on a similarly-sized demon, "D'you mind? That's our ball you're hogging." The girl pointed to the red rubber toy that had no doubt connected with Juliet's skull earlier. Juliet looked at it, then scooped it up, shakily standing and dusting off her skirt. She tossed it gently back over the fence, and the girl caught it deftly in one hand. She stepped off of the fence and dropped to the ground, walking back towards the middle of the barren yard as if Juliet's sudden appearance and injury were of no consequence.  
To this child, they were not.  
The boy spat out a large clod of dirt, which splattered to the ground near Juliet's feet. She grimaced.  
"Hey! I know you, lady," the boy shouted, pointing a stubby finger at her, "You're a teacher at my school!" Juliet adjusted her shirt and picked up her purse.  
"Well, yes, I suppose that—"  
"_I hate dirty, stinkin' teachers!"_ the child snapped, his face twisted into a scowl, "Get offa my lawn!" Juliet blinked and frowned, tightening her grip on her bag.  
"Excuse me?" she huffed. The boy threw his baseball cap down on the ground in anger and climbed farther up onto the fence, pointing again.  
"You get offa my lawn before I call the cops! You aint's givin' me no homework, lady!" Juliet put her hand on her hip and made a noise of disbelief.  
"You stop all that yelling at me!" she shot back, "Have you no manners? Where are your parents? I should like to speak to them about this." The boy scrabbled over the edge of the fence, like a dog trying to make the jump to get at her.  
"Get offa my lawn, you rotten homework-giver!"  
"I'm not on your lawn!" the schoolteacher retorted. The boy took a breath, but before he could speak, there was a _thwump!_ And he toppled over the side of the fence, landing on the concrete sidewalk face first. The red rubber ball bounced lightly on the grass and rolled to a stop in front of the shiny black shoes of the little girl. She said nothing and crossed her arms, glaring steadily through the fence at the Englishwoman who had distracted her playmate. Juliet tightened her grip on her bag again and looked away, taking a step forward to the fallen boy.  
"Oh, my goodness… are you alright?" she asked, bending slightly to look down at him, "Little boy…?" The boy picked up his head and glared at her through a swollen eye. He made a choked hissing noise in response. Juliet wrinkled her nose, surprised, and stepped away.  
"Oh, good Lord," she said quietly, "What on Earth—"  
"Billy. Get up, you lazy baboon. It's seventy-eight to nothing and there's still twenty minutes left." The boy turned his head with a nasty pop and jumped up lightly.  
"I'm gonna getcha this round, Mandy!" he shouted, clambering back over the fence clumsily. He landed heavily on his feet, righted himself, and ran over to the dour-looking girl in pink, holding his hands up in a catcher's positon. Juliet took a cautious step away, her brow furrowed slightly. She hesitated, then turned and headed farther up the street, setting her small hand on the side of her head again.  
"Ow…" she groaned quietly to herself, fixing her eyes on the stop sign at the end of the street. What odd children.  
"Hey Mandy, how do we even earn points in this game?" Juliet heard the familiar sound of rubber-on-skull followed by a thud and a pained groan.  
"Seventy-nine to nothing."  
Odd children indeed. Thankfully, not hers though.

Skarr had seen the last bit of the confrontation over his back fence (and a few rose bushes). The sound of a rubber ball whacking some unwitting victim on the side of the head brought back a series of flashbacks almost as painful as those he occasionally suffered from his days as… a wayward general. He had instinctively ducked down in case there was to be an ambush. When no such thing happened, and no hideous children's laughter was heard over his fence, he chanced a look over the pointed wooden planks.  
"You stop all that yelling at me! Have you no manners? Where are your parents? I should like to speak to them about this." He narrowed his eyes and frowned, tightening his grip on the trowel in his hand. That damned woman again. It had hardly been a week. What could she want now? Wanting to borrow more tea, perhaps? He scoffed to himself, refusing to think about the fact that he had gone back to the store and purchased a tin of Earl Grey, the same sort he had seen her buy at the market. Instead he chose to focus on the fact that she would more than likely waddle up to his front door and bat those gray eyes of hers and pester him till he surrendered.  
What a nuisance.  
Clearly it must have been her that the rotten little children had assaulted. The woman's hair was mussed up on one side and her face was red with frustration. Not to mention the fact that the little idiot boy was yelling back at her over the fence, despite the fact that said fence was made of chain-link and could easily be spoken _through_.  
"I'm not on your lawn!"  
Skarr's lips curved into a sinister little smirk. So easily bothered. He heard the devil girl call her monkey of a companion back to her and their mindless, childish game. But he was not particularly interested in them. He narrowed his eyes and hunched slightly, watching Juliet continue her path down the sidewalk, heading directly for his gate. He rolled his eyes and stepped away from the fence. Well, if there was to be no stopping her…  
He removed his gloves and set them beside his gardening tools before brushing some dirt off of his pants, already mentally preparing the short-lived, snarky battle he would soon have. The young lady really did not need much incentive to be frustrated. If he thought about it, he could really make it into a sort of game. He was never one for fun, but perhaps if the fun centered on someone else's frustrations…  
He walked around the side of his house, a snide greeting poised in his mind to catch the little woman off-guard. To his surprise, Juliet had not stopped at his gate. She was still walking with a purpose, holding the side of her head. When she approached the stop sign, she turned the corner and began to walk down the other side of his fence. He frowned heavily. Where did she get off playing hard to get? He scowled at the thought and huffed, marching for the fence. He was annoyed. At her and at himself. She was not playing hard to get. She wasn't even playing. This wasn't a game, and even if it were, he had not informed her of such. There was no need to be annoyed. Yet annoyed he was. The woman had not noticed his approach, which only made him that much more unhappy. He stopped beside the fence and gripped the slats tightly, scowling at her. He cleared his throat loudly when she passed, and she jumped as if struck, ducking down quickly. The sight amused him slightly.  
"You're learning," he said, loosening his grip on the fence. Juliet turned her head back and looked at him, narrowing her eyes. She straightened and adjusted her shirt.  
"Learning? That's a skill, then, is it?"  
'Isn't it?" Skarr shot back, nodding his head towards Billy's yard. Juliet looked in his suggested direction, then huffed.  
"You saw that, then?"  
"Not the actual attack, no. But the colorful aftermath." Juliet adjusted the strap of her purse.  
"It wasn't an attack. They're just children."  
"That little boy was ready to scratch your eyes out." Juliet snorted lightly, tucking a curl behind one ear.  
"Excitable, is all. I'm sure." Skarr frowned.  
"Your definition of excitable is disturbing, Juliet," he remarked lowly. The woman turned a soft shade of pink and turned her head to gaze down the street again.  
"As charming as this conversation has been so far, I really must be off. Lots of things to do that don't involve turning fifteen-minute tasks into small eternities plagued by nonsensical small-talk." Skarr blinked, then frowned.  
"…Not quite what I said."  
"Yes, it was," Juliet responded tightly, turning down the street again. He followed her along the fence.  
"No, it wasn't."  
"I distinctly remember."  
"Woman, you're _wrong_, and you'll have to come to terms with that." Juliet scoffed, turning her nose up. He narrowed his eyes.  
"Don't do that. You're just in denial."  
"I'm trying to go to the market."  
"You could just ask to borrow more tea." He scarcely believed he had said it. Juliet stopped in her tracks and looked at him curiously. After a moment, she turned her body back towards the fence.  
"I am not in pursuit of tea today, Reginald." She folded her arms over her chest and tilted her head at him, keeping her eyes narrowed. He recovered quickly, mimicking her by crossing his arms on the fence.  
"Well, then, what are you after?"  
"What are _you_ after?" Juliet returned. He didn't immediately reply. What _was_ he after?  
"…I asked you first," he eventually retorted, rather lamely. Juliet's gray eyes cut to the side in exasperation, and she exhaled sharply.  
"Potatoes. I need potatoes for dinner tonight and I had forgotten them early in the week. Have I slaked your curiosity with my grocery list, sir?" His lip curled at the acid in her tone.  
"Well, you could have asked for those as well," he snapped, his fingers curling into fists on the fence, "Unless that run-in with the pint-sized moron has knocked your common sense out along with your manners, as the case seems to be." Juliet gasped quietly, her brows knitting together.  
"Oh! You want to talk about manners!" She put her hands on the curves of her hips and leaned forward towards the fence, her round face reddening again.  
"Maybe I would," he sneered at the blushing visage, before motioning in a grand, over-dramatic gesture towards his house, "Would you, _dear lady_, care to come inside for a bit?" Juliet straightened, puffing her gratuitous chest.  
"Why yes, _kind sir, _I would delight in _nothing more_."  
"_Wonderful._"  
Juliet walked all the way back around to the front gate, frowning heavily and nose turned up in distaste. Her face was red with frustration, and it matched her hair well. Skarr opened the gate and stepped aside, throwing in a sarcastic little bow when she entered the yard. She scowled at him and walked up the pathway to the front steps. Skarr slammed the gate shut and locked it, nearly seething. How dare this woman waltz into his yard and up to his house?  
He chose to ignore the fact that he had invited her.

Billy watched the chubby schoolteacher and his strange, reclusive neighbor disappear through the front door. When he heard the door shut, he looked over his shoulder at Mandy, who was counting the money he had just handed over to her as part of their bet: 100 wins to zero in under thirty minutes. He still wasn't sure as to the rules of the game. He jerked his head towards his neighbor's house.  
"Hey Mandy, whattya think the teacher lady wants with that creepy old one-eyed weirdo?" Mandy did not look up from her counting.  
"Get off of that fence before you see something that warps your peanut-sized brain," she muttered, and then folded the bills up and put them in her dress pocket. Billy dropped to the ground.  
"Like what, Mandy?" he asked, shoving his hands in his pockets. Mandy began to walk towards the house.  
"They're probably going to have sex, you idiot, and if that's the _very _unlikely case, you don't wanna see that." She looked over her shoulder as she pushed the front door open, "It'll melt your eyes." With that, she disappeared inside.  
"Let's go watch TV. Taking your money has worn me out…"


	5. Burning Red

The minute the door shut, Skarr regretted his decision. For a second he stood at his door, staring at his hand that had shut it so determinedly moments earlier. He had only ever invited one other person into his house.  
The boy.  
He looked over his shoulder at the retreating backside of the woman he had just brought through his door. His gaze flicked over the pear-shaped form. She was decidedly _not_ a boy. Therefore was he not already doing better than before? His hand slid away from the door as he watched her venture further down his corridor.  
"Already know where you're going, then?" She turned to look at him. That frustrated blush of hers still splashed across her cheeks… it accentuated her frown so nicely. Such a nettled little thing.  
"I assumed you would be right behind me, as it is your house, after all," she miffed. He followed her down the hall, his long stride easily catching up to her short, high-heeled steps.  
"You shouldn't assume," he said simply, "Follow me, if you please." Inwardly, his mind churned uncomfortably. What now? He couldn't ask her to leave, which was something he was quite used to. There were steps to take. Propriety to consider. What next? He offers her something. There we go, that's a safe step.  
"Can I get you anything?" Juliet made a soft sound of disbelief and humor, her eyes scanning the walls of the corridor.  
"Besides your pleasant company and good humor? No, thank you." He frowned quickly, bristling slightly. A comeback immediately rose in his throat, and died a second later.  
"You have no pictures on your walls," the woman noted. He paused, considering her observation. It was true. His walls, at least those outside his private study, were bare. In fact, his main decorations were house plants, of which there were none in the entryway.  
"…I don't take pictures," he replied shortly, leading her through the doorway of his living room. Juliet looked at him in mild surprise.  
"Why ever not?" He frowned at her and motioned to his sofa.  
"It never appealed to me. Please, have a seat." Juliet looked at him a bit longer, then complied, holding her purse in her lap. Skarr was once again at a loss. Alright, she refused the first offer. Perhaps he should offer again.  
"…Are you certain I can't get you anything?" Juliet appeared to consider it, scrutinizing his face as she did.  
"What? Do you expect a trick?" He crossed his arms and looked down his nose at her, turning his head slightly to fix her in his one good eye. If she wanted to stare, he'd soon cure her of that. Juliet shook her head slightly, evidently not all that bothered by his glare.  
"No. I'm certain that if you tricked me or at the very least spit in my drink, I would notice."  
"Would you," he droned.  
"Yes. Venom floats in water." He narrowed his eyes slightly at the smug little smirk on her smug little face.  
"…water, then."  
"Oh, yes, please," Juliet chimed cheerfully. He turned on his heel and left to fetch the water. There. He had a task now. Something to occupy him for a few seconds. He took a glass out of the cupboard and went to fill it at the sink. What was she playing at? She had to be after something. Nobody just… _walks _into his house without a goal. Billy, Ernest… even Hector had a goal in mind when their foot (or paw) crossed the threshold. As the water filled the glass, he turned the last few minutes over in his head. All they had done was banter, really. Surprisingly, no threats had been made from either contributor. And now, here she was, this strange little woman, sitting in his house waiting for a glass of water. And she had sent him to fetch it with another snide remark. Something between wit and blatant sarcasm. He had to think. She shouldn't speak to him like that. He should be angry. After all, he'd been much angrier for much less in his day. Then again, he could very easily turn the tables on her.  
This thought intrigued him. He had already noticed how little incentive she needed to become a bothered, red-faced little mess. If he could get that to happen again, it would pull the rug out from under her tiny feet and maybe then he wouldn't feel quite so bothered by all this… this back-and-forth. He turned back for the living room, keeping his eye fixed on the glass. Oh, he could certainly do that… Why, it's just like combat. He needed only to find her weak points. He had already taken into account one of them: poor manners.  
He should spill the water on her.  
No, don't do that. We're looking for poor manners, not clumsy mistakes. She was more likely to pity him than be annoyed.  
Juliet looked up when he reentered the living room, completely unaware of the intense reasoning he had just done in the kitchen, and took the glass from his outstretched hand.  
"Thank you," she said, taking a small sip. There was a beat of silence. That beat grew into an increasingly awkward stretch, only eased when Juliet, after looking around aimlessly, offered the beginning of a potential conversation.  
"You have a lovely home," she began, lightly tapping her fingernails on the side of the glass. Skarr blinked, genuinely caught off-guard. He cast a quick glance around the room to be sure she was talking about this particular home, perhaps to discover precisely what it was she found so lovely about it. Skarr personally felt his home was nice, and felt inclined to agree with the woman. He was meticulous about the placement and coordination of all his furniture, all the decorations. Still, he had never heard anyone say such a thing before. If they had, they had certainly never said it to his face.  
"…thank you," was all he could offer in response. Juliet motioned to the armchair near the sofa.  
"…would you… sit and join me, please?" He sank into the chair a bit quicker than he had intended, glancing around once more. Juliet took another small sip from her glass and tilted her head at him.  
"Are you alright?" she asked. Skarr looked at her, a curious expression on his face.  
"Do you mean it?" The Englishwoman tilted her head the other way, as if she hadn't heard correctly.  
"Hm? Mean what?"  
"Do you mean what you said? About my house, that is." Juliet paused, and then nodded once.  
"Yes, it is rather nice. Very cozy… was it your wife who decorated it?"  
"I'm not married."  
The answer was quick and crisp, and Juliet leaned back slightly from its abruptness.  
"O-oh. I'm… sorry, I didn't mean—"  
"You shouldn't assume," Skarr repeated, his eyebrow slowly arching as he noted her flushing features. Juliet looked down at her glass quickly, well-aware of the heat spreading across her face. No, he was right, she shouldn't have assumed. If she had just looked, she would see there was no ring. But how silly would she feel if he had caught her checking his hand for a ring? _Certainly less silly than I do presently_, she thought bitterly, staring hard at the bubbles on the inside of her water glass. As Juliet scrambled to think of a recovery statement, Skarr relaxed into a familiar feeling. A small, nagging feeling of power. It was very minute, but it was there. He hardly had to try to send the uppity young lady into a mortified little tizzy.  
"Don't be embarrassed," he said, setting his elbows on the arms of his chair and steepling his fingers, inwardly willing the woman to be even more embarrassed, "I know I must appear to be quite the catch." It was a bitter statement, a sour little joke at his own expense, but it did the trick. The girl spluttered, scrabbling for words to dig her out of this hole she had put herself in and where he was more than happy to bury her.  
"It isn't that—"  
"No? You don't think I am?"  
"No! That's not what I said-"  
"Well, that's awfully rude of you, don't you think?"  
"No, what I mean to say—"  
"No? Well, I think it is. I don't have very much self-esteem now. You've cut me down."  
"You stop that!"  
"Stop what? You're the one insulting me in my own home. And after I've shown you nothing but consideration." Juliet set her water on the coffee table and waved her hands insistently.  
"No, no, no—"  
"Yes, yes, yes." Oh, he really was enjoying this game. The woman made a frustrated noise.  
"Ooh! Would you stop? Forgive me for my assumption, I meant nothing by it. It's just that at your age—"  
"_My _age?" He raised an eyebrow, maintaining his posture. Juliet looked horrified. His lips curved into a small, mean smirk.  
"Now, now, I only mean that you don't seem the bachelor type," Juliet tried, pointing at him, her arms held close to her body as if to shield herself from his gaze.  
"No? Then I _am _a catch."  
"Yes—_No!_" Juliet made a louder, more insistent noise of exasperation, dropping her head in her hands. He tilted his head, then chuckled darkly.  
"You look a bit frazzled, Juliet," he said coolly. Juliet huffed, looking up at him.  
"You did that on purpose," she accused lowly.  
"Did I?"  
"Of course! No decent person would go out of their way to drive someone into a circular minefield of conversation! Twisting my words and laughing at my attempts to right your interpretations of them." He bobbled his head, looking up at the ceiling, pondering a response.  
"Well, Juliet… I am not a decent person." Juliet took a drink from her glass.  
"I gathered that," she muttered. His eyes narrowed, but his smirk only grew.  
"You ought to be in better control of your emotions, Juliet... tantrums are a bit low-brow, aren't they? But, perhaps you are just young." Her cheeks puffed belligerently.  
"I am not that young," she sniffed. A sharp exhale of air burst past Skarr's smirk.  
"You don't look a day over twelve," he snorted. Juliet wrinkled her tiny nose.  
"I'm not twelve! I—"  
"Very well, then, ten."  
"I am not ten, either!"  
"The more you shout, the younger you appear…" he crooned tauntingly. She huffed in disgust.  
"I'm twenty-four," she snapped quietly, puffing her chest and taking another sip from her rapidly-depleting drink. Skarr scoffed lightly, the barest hint of his pointed teeth making their appearance. Juliet did not notice.  
"You're nothing but a child." She turned her nose up, refusing to respond any further. She was smart to his game now. So she thought.  
"A baby," he continued, "I'm almost twice your age." Juliet chanced a look at him through narrowed eyes. He seemed indifferent after offering the information.  
"…I would have guessed fifty," she said eventually.  
"Oh, that's just rude, Juliet…" He waved his hand in a lazy circle, "I'm forty-three. You mean to say I haven't aged well?"  
"Oh, I'm not falling for that again," the woman muttered, setting her glass down again and crossing her arms. Damn it, she was getting smarter after all. Well, then, a new tactic must be introduced.  
"There now, don't be so upset. Your face is red enough to be sunburned." She touched her pudgy cheek gently with her fingers.  
"Is it really that red?" she asked, sitting up straighter. He nodded in response, making a small gesture towards her.  
"Oh, quite red," he went on, "You resemble a spanked ass."  
Juliet's hand dropped heavily into her lap, and her jaw surely would have followed at the rate her mouth fell open. Silence hung in the air, heavy enough that Skarr could almost _hear _the blood rushing to the woman's face. A crooked grin cracked across his face, full of malice and victory.  
"Was it something I said…?" he inquired innocently, leaning forward slightly. Juliet's lips pursed into a thin line and her cheeks puffed up again. She looked like she might explode.  
Wouldn't that be a sight to see?  
Juliet appeared to be contemplating her next sentence very carefully. Skarr hoped she would speak soon, lest she splatter her brains all over his couch and carpet. He had no time for stubborn stains today.  
"Don't swear." He turned his head to hear her better.  
"Beg pardon?" he asked.  
"Don't… swear," Juliet squeaked again. Her voice was strained, fighting to stay controlled. Skarr wrinkled his nose a bit at her odd response.  
"Don't… was it the swearing that bothered you? That was the only thing?" Juliet let out a heavy sigh, clenching her fists in her lap. When she spoke her voice was mellow again.  
"I don't like foul language. I ask you to respect that." Skarr's face twisted into a look of confusion and mild irritation.  
"Res… that's it? My comparison between your face and a rear end had nothing to do with it?" Juliet frowned harder.  
"Not… necessarily, no."  
"That's preposterous," Skarr scoffed, "I've never heard of such. You really ought to set your priorities right about insults, Juliet."  
"Why must you insult me?" she shot back. He was taken aback with the force in her tone. He was even more shocked by her almost immediate regret at her outburst.  
"Excuse me… just a bit of frustration ebbing out." Skarr dug his fingertips into the arms of his chair, flexing them as he thought. God, what an odd woman. But, was she right? Why must he insult her? He sifted over his statements quickly. That wasn't an insult. Not… really. Just a part of the banter. Too much, maybe? Unnecessary force?  
He should apologize. That's what people did when they crossed lines with pleasant company. Was this even pleasant company? The more he puzzled over his situation, the more questions his mind vomited up at him. As this occurred, he tried to string together an apology for his neighbor.  
"This is my house, and I'll swear if I like."  
_Good Lord, that wasn't an apology at all._ Juliet snapped her head up to look at him. She frowned again.  
"I can respect that. However I must point out that you can hold very enriching conversations with a person without any four-letter words such as those."  
"Motherfucking is not a four letter word."  
_Dear God, shut up, you're making this into a train wreck_. Juliet gasped.  
"Reginald!" He huffed at his name. It made him feel like a child being scolded in school.  
"Don't look at me like that. I'm a grown man. I've earned my right to swear." It made very good sense to him. Why shouldn't he swear in his own house? This woman and her sensitivities could bloody well get over it.  
"It offends me."  
"Well, that's too bad, because it doesn't offend me in the least." Juliet gripped her purse tightly, pursing her lips again.  
"I find the sound unpleasant."  
"What a stupid reason. Furthermore, if you get thrown into a tizzy over a little word like 'ass', then I'm afraid you won't want to hear me in one of my moods." Juliet scoffed, a humorless laugh tumbling past her red lips.  
"Oh! You have moods, do you? Here I thought you were just permanently boorish."  
"Madam, I'll have you know that I am a military man, and _boorish_ is an insult the likes of which I will not tolerate," Skarr shot back testily, baring his sharpened teeth.  
"Whatever's the matter? Don't like the sound of it?" Juliet sang sarcastically, before taking note of his teeth. He caught her look and her expression of shock. His lip curled slightly, making no effort to hide his teeth from her.  
"You look as if you've seen something unpleasant," he huffed. Juliet blinked and looked up at his eyes.  
"Your teeth…" she murmured. Skarr flicked one of the pointed bones lightly, almost carelessly.  
"Yes, marvelous, aren't they? All the rage in the eighties," he muttered, glaring at her over his nose. Juliet sat back against the couch, holding her purse a bit protectively in front of her. He noticed her closed-off posture had shifted from angry to frightened.  
For some reason, he didn't much like that change.  
Which was odd. He was usually such a fan of it.  
"I won't bite, Juliet," he ventured. There was a hint of a growl in his voice, left over from his anger. He partially regretted it. Juliet shook her head rapidly and shivered once. He raised an eyebrow.  
"No, no, I… I would hope—think—not…It's just… I've never seen teeth like yours, before… Do they…?"  
"Yes," he muttered, leaning back in his chair, "They grow like this. They have since I was a child. Perfect for ripping meat to shreds, I like to think. Wouldn't you agree?" Juliet said nothing, and he shrugged.  
"At any rate, you shouldn't be quite so afraid of me for my teeth." He paused, and then added, "There are quite a few reasons more to be frightened of a man such as myself." Juliet blinked rapidly. Was that a threat? If it was, should she leave now? Or was it too late? Too late for what? Scenarios flicked through her mind like slides on a reel, each one ghastly in its own right. It looked like an assortment of scenes from Shark Week or a tacky horror film, and she was very frightened of the images she created. She was even more horrified to find that the images were shifting from ravenous, flesh-tearing bites to small nips. Burning kisses hiding bite marks, trailing across skin like a path on a map to—  
_Oh, dear God, Juliet, where on Earth did that come from?_ She saw his eyes narrow suspiciously and felt heat spread across her face again. She ducked her head quickly to hide as much of her blush as she could. She felt like she was glowing. She immediately became petrified of what he might think of her blush. God, who flushes bright red on the topic of teeth? At a threat? He must think something of it. Then again, maybe he hadn't noticed at all. After all, she had been red for most of her visit, had she not? Surely he must think of it as her natural complexion by now. He certainly hadn't noticed the change.  
He noticed the change. He didn't know what to make of it though. He hadn't said anything to warrant that reaction. Maybe she just turned red randomly. Perhaps it was a skin condition after all. He drummed his fingers on the arms of his chair. Regardless, it wasn't unpleasant. It fit her. It was a softer red, not like the one that flared when she was angry. It peaked his curiosity, but he did not know how to address it. Instead he only said:  
"I don't understand why swearing bothers you, Juliet, and I have no intention of changing my habits inside my own home for a one-time visitor." Juliet didn't respond for several seconds, before his statement appeared to click.  
"One-time?" she asked quietly. His eyebrows raised slightly.  
"Oh," was all he could manage. Juliet shook her head gently.  
"I'm sorry… Have I… overstayed?"  
"No!" he said quickly, holding a hand out to keep her in place, although she had not moved a bit, "No, you haven't. I—"  
"You shouldn't assume," Juliet murmured, tilting her head at his hand before looking up at his face. She saw his pale cheeks tinge slightly, a very light shade of red. Hardly noticeable, and the moment she thought she saw it, he shook his head rapidly and frowned hard, standing up.  
"Don't twist my words, woman. You're insufferable," he huffed. Juliet stood too, setting her purse on the couch behind her.  
"And you're so perfectly charming."  
"Your temper flares so easily," he replied, turning to look down at the shorter woman.  
"And yours never leaves you." They squinted at each other, neither aware of the other's thinking but both thinking very similar things.  
Suddenly Juliet gasped loudly.  
"Oh, God, I've forgotten dinner!" She started hurrying out of the room. The thin man watched her go in surprise before going after her, catching up almost immediately.  
"What?"  
"Dinner!" she gasped again, rushing for the front door, "Arthur sent me out for potatoes for his steak and I forgot about them _completely_! What time is it?" She cast a quick glance to her watch. Skarr stopped in his tracks and looked at her hard.  
"…Arthur?"  
"He expects me home within the next ten minutes, I won't get the potatoes in time!" She opened the front door and looked around at the darkening sky. As she practically skipped down the steps, she looked over her shoulder.  
"Thank you for inviting me inside, Reginald, I do hope we can do this again sometime. Please forgive my sudden departure, I really must be off!" She was already halfway down the path, and he scrambled for a full sentence.  
"What… what about Wednesday?" he called from his doorway.  
"Wednesday sounds lovely!" the woman replied, closing his gate behind her. She waved as she hurried down the sidewalk. He watched her round the corner and follow his fence down the street till she vanished behind his house. His face, softened by surprise, now twisted back into its familiar scowl.  
"…Arthur?"


	6. Something Wicked

Skarr was not a man who took news (good or bad) with any sort of grace. Beneath his stony, cold exterior he was a ticking time bomb. This underlying side of him made itself known in a very loud way. He was prone to explosions, you see. Now was no different.  
He slammed the door with enough force to shake the dishes in the cupboard on the adjoining wall.  
"_Arthur?!"_ he demanded of the potted fern beside his feet. The fern did not give any indication that it had been aware of any "Arthur" either. The seething man made his way back to his living room, where he began to pace furiously back and forth in front of his couch. Thoughts swam in his head, mostly incomplete, all of them outraged for reasons he couldn't quite fathom. He was just angry, and as it was a comfortable, familiar emotion, he let it take hold. Arthur. Who was this _Arthur?_ And why was the neighbor woman fetching something for his dinner? They obviously share some sort of connection, a familiar one at that. One does not fetch vegetables for strangers. He stopped pacing.  
Unless she was doing just that. Fetching potatoes for some… old man. Or a cripple. That was likely, wasn't it? After all, she seemed just the sort to be inclined to do charity work like that. Hardly have to be asked twice, he thought.  
Disgusting.  
"Hmph," he grunted to no one in particular, rubbing his chin as he stared hard at the coffee table. Possible, but not probable. She hadn't been in the neighborhood a month. Unlikely she would have gotten to know any invalids in such a short period of time. This conclusion infuriated him all over again, and he began to pace once more.  
_Let us assume that Arthur is not a man in need of charity. Therefore he is able-bodied and certainly capable of getting his own damn tubers,_ he thought testily, holding his hands behind his back as he walked, shoulders hunched. It wasn't so much that he was upset Juliet had gone to prepare another man's dinner; it was that she had left _his_ company to do so. Suddenly and without warrant, as far as he was concerned. Very rude. The woman hated rudeness. She must have a damn good reason. An able-bodied man sending her out—wait a moment, who's to say it's even a man? Why, it could be… her… cat. Or some such thing. Didn't she seem like a cat person? Or a dog person? His relief at this idea was short-lived. Animals don't prepare their own dinner, and they don't eat potatoes. And if they did, they didn't set deadlines for their owners to meet. An impossible idea. He growled at the back of his throat, muttering lowly to himself as he paced faster.  
Back to the man, then. A man in her house sending her out on errands. A brother. But why live with her brother? Financial reasons, he answered himself inwardly. He rubbed his head, brow furrowed. No, he had to go by what he knew, which, he admitted, wasn't much. She hadn't mentioned any family, although it was difficult to, he supposed, since they had talked a total amount of three times (if you could call what they had "talking"). He halted again and stood before the couch, frowning hard at the cushions as if he wanted these answers to his questions from the furniture and not his own angry mind. Forget theories. Use a little training, why don't you. He straightened and held his hands behind his back again, stowing his haphazardly thrown-together theories in the back of his mind for now and took into account what he remembered about her today.  
She was in a hurry judging by the way she walked past his gate after her run-in with the neighborhood brats. She wasn't dressed to be going anywhere particularly nice, but neither was she dressed as if she had stayed at home all day in her pajamas. A simple blue outfit: blue calf-length skirt, not any sort of loose fabric, a white button-up. It was comfortable, he imagined, but put-together. He could pull nothing more out of the clothing. Her hair had been done, or, at least, brushed. It was Saturday, did women brush their hair on Saturdays? If not, she had gotten up this morning with the purpose of looking decent. Only reason for that is if you're planning on going somewhere public, or if someone has to look at you all day and you give a rat's ass about what they think. And pearls. She was wearing pearls. You'd have to really want to look good to put on accessories like those, he thought, rapidly taking into account today's weather, the woman's mood, her direction of travel, the smudge on her cheek from where the rubber ball had hit her and left dirt. His eye flicked over her water glass, abandoned on the table. A small lipstick stain adorned the rim. So she had fully intended on looking nice today. What for? Potatoes? Hardly, or she would have fetched them when she had gone through all the effort in the morning.  
And no one puts that much time into looking nice for vegetables, anyway. Not even him. The more he remembered, the clearer the picture in his head became, until he could picture her nearly perfectly. But nothing about the image told him anything about _Arthur_. Just as he was about to start pacing again, he glanced up from the glass on the table to the couch. Crumpled in the corner between the arm and back was a small black bag.  
A purse.  
For a moment he only stood there, looking at it, before he rounded the table and scooped it up in one hand. It wasn't a large bag, and a little shiny from some sort of fake leather. He tilted his head at it. He could very well go through this bag, perhaps find something to tell him more about this mysterious man in Juliet's house. A small voice in his head, weak with disuse, piped up that to do so would be wrong and a breach of trust. Skarr inwardly noted that he had done far worse with much less reason. Furthermore, he trusted no one.  
_It's not your trust you would be breaking. _Skarr blinked, turning the bag over in his hands, curious at this new development of a conscience. Well, she wouldn't have to _know _he had gone through her personal belongings. Therefore, no breach of trust.  
_You would know.  
_Skarr had heard that one before. It had never bothered him in the past, knowing he had done some bad thing (or in most cases, some true atrocities) and keeping those facts to himself. This one, however… it picked at him. And he hadn't even _done _anything yet! He scowled at the bag, blaming it for his predicament. If she hadn't left her bag here, he wouldn't have to suffer this annoying struggle. He would have to demand an apology when she came to retrieve it.  
He paused, looking up from the bag.  
She wouldn't have to retrieve it if he brought it to her.  
Yes, and if he brought it _to her_, it could possibly allow him to see _Arthur_ for himself. Judge based on what he actually knew and experienced rather than theorized. This idea clicked with him, and he fully supported his thinking. Which was a bit biased. At any rate, he made up his mind right then and, with the purse clenched tightly in his fist, he sat down on the couch, crossed his legs, and looked out the window, waiting for Juliet to pass by again on her way home before making his next move.

Juliet was horrified, embarrassed beyond reasoning. And slightly frightened. She had gotten all the way to the market, knowing she was twenty minutes late with the potatoes already, before realizing she did not have her purse. She trekked back home for another twenty minutes, knowing full-well where she had left the bag.  
But she had no intention of going to Reginald's house again. Not until tomorrow morning, at any rate. The idea frightened her in a completely different manner than Arthur did. Before she had left… the way her neighbor had looked down at her…  
She shivered and turned pink to think of it, trying to pull herself together as she walked up her stone front steps. It wasn't… exactly anger that he had stared her down with. It was something else, perhaps just as bad. It was as if he could read her mind when he looked at her like that, and if that was the case she certainly had every reason to be embarrassed. Her imagination was getting the better of her, and if she didn't reign it in, she may say something truly regrettable.  
Or think it too hard and broadcast it to the man in her actions.  
She gently opened her front door and stepped inside, her blush fading rapidly as she stepped into the cold hallway. Arthur always kept the home like an ice box.  
"Juliet."  
No cruel nickname. No hint at another sentence.  
She was in very deep trouble.  
She said nothing as she wound her way through her house towards the kitchen. At the stove stood her husband, his back facing her and rigid as a statue. He held a large fork in one hand and a pair of tongs in the other. He did not turn to face her when she entered.  
"Juliet," he said again, his voice soft and clipped, "You're late."  
Juliet instinctively clasped her hands in front of her tightly.  
"Yes, Arthur, I know, but—"  
"You know?" he inquired quietly, his tongs disappearing in front of him. Juliet heard a soft sizzle, "So you cannot even blame ignorance for this stupidity, this… disregard for my wants and needs. Hm?" Juliet did not respond. He continued after a beat of silence.  
"Juliet, this is quite ridiculous… I gave you a simple task. A child—a _dog_—could have accomplished it faster and with a better attitude. You have no excuse for your shortcomings, you know that, don't you?" Juliet looked down at her feet, and hated herself for it. She should say something. She should not allow him to speak to her like this.  
"Put the potatoes over here," her husband said, his voice just as indifferent as before. He pointed to a spot on the counter beside him with his fork. Juliet hesitated, and wrung her hands slightly.  
"…I don't… have the potatoes, Arthur," she said uncertainly, softly. Arthur turned his steak over again, his posture as rigid as ever. Still, he did not look at her.  
"Don't have them," he repeated. He shook his head and tisked, setting the tongs down, "That's actually almost impressive, Juliet. Every time I think you cannot disappoint me or anger me more than you already have, you come up with a new way to fail fantastically at every little thing I ask you to do. It's almost a talent, your incompetence." Juliet swallowed her anger and resentment, squeezing her small hands together tightly.  
"Coming back late _without_ the potatoes, that's… did you have to think about that one? Sit in the mud with the other barnyard flock and wrack that curly little head of yours to come with any _possible _way to fail this errand?" Juliet spoke up quietly.  
"I was—"  
"Oh, shut up," Arthur interrupted, raking his free hand through his swept-back blonde hair, "Just shut up… The smartest thing to ever come out of your mouth was a penis." Juliet blanched and blushed bright, furious red, her anger sparking.  
"Don't you—!" Arthur stabbed the serving fork into the cutting board beside him, the prongs embedded into the wood, splitting it in ugly cracks across the worn surface. He whirled on the short woman and sent her cowering backwards into the living room. He followed her hotly, his indifferent face regarding her with a frown of disdain.  
"Don't order me," he hissed vehemently, his fists clenched at his sides, "And don't talk back to me. How _dare _you think you can drag your fat, sloppy hide back into this house with nothing to show for the last hour and a half you wasted other than a poor attitude and excuses." Juliet backed into the far wall and hunched against it, looking up at her husband with wide, scared eyes. He snorted at the sight.  
"There you go again," he snapped softly, leaning closer to her face. She squeaked and ducked her head. She could feel his breath on her face, the rage welling up out of him, rolling off of him in waves. He had never hit her before, but she had always feared he would.  
"You slink around this house, keeping to the corners and the shadows like a _mutt_, a dog that's been kicked too much or perhaps not enough, I cannot decide…" He whipped his hand out and cupped her pale, round face tightly, squeezing the soft flesh of her cheeks in his bony grip, "One day, my dear, you're going to cross me for the final time."  
It was another of his famous threats. It always had a deeper meaning than what it seemed. Juliet had to wonder, did he mean the final time when he actually struck her, or did he mean the final time… for good? She trembled slightly, and Arthur pushed her face away in disgust.  
"Don't shiver, you'll make yourself hot and bothered and a cow in heat ruins good hardwood floors." Juliet rubbed her cheeks gently, he cool hands slightly easing the stinging.  
The doorbell rang as Arthur approached the kitchen. He looked at it, then looked at his cowering wife. With a scowl, he turned back and headed down the front hall, hand outstretched for the door.  
"Stay," he ordered over his shoulder, just loud enough for her to hear. Juliet shifted on her feet slightly, eyes pricking with tears. She was frankly in the mood for nothing else than to go to bed and perhaps sleep forever. The more she pondered her sudden weariness, the aches in her bones, the headache pounding against her skull, the more she became aware of a familiar accent.  
Dear God, not that.  
She didn't think she could take them both at once. Come to think of it, she didn't think she could handle the man at the door at all, not after her confrontation with Arthur. Forgetting Arthur's order, and evidently her better judgment, Juliet ventured closer to the hall, the voices growing slightly louder. She poked her head around the corner just enough to catch a glimpse of Reginald at the door. The look on his face was highly displeased, more than she had seen so far, and in his left hand he clutched a black form she recognized as her purse. Though she was partially hidden behind the wall, he noticed her almost immediately.  
"Ah, Juliet. There you are," he said, surprisingly lightly for the expression on his face. Arthur's head snapped around and he fixed her with a cold glare. It took quite a bit of willpower not to flinch away. Reginald held up her purse.  
"I was just explaining how you left this at my house," he went on. Arthur looked away from her and glared back at the man before him, shorter by a good two inches.  
"I'll take the bag, thank you," he said, reaching for it. The other man snatched it away with surprising reflexes.  
"Ah, no. I don't think so. You see, I don't think it matches your outfit," Reginald explained, motioning to the purse, "I'll just hand it to Juliet." Arthur frowned hard.  
"Juliet has only just come down with a cold. I'd hate for you to catch it, Mister…" Arthur waved his hand and simultaneously reached for the purse again.  
"Skarr," Reginald replied, not at all believing that Arthur cared for his health, even if Juliet was sick, as he claimed. He pulled the bag away from Arthur's reach again, "Reginald Skarr. I live four houses down, you see."  
"Skarr…" Arthur droned, dropping his hand to his side, his other still firmly gripping the doorknob, "How… fitting." Juliet blanched at the words, but Reginald did not seem fazed.  
"Yes, it's rather ironic. Believe it or not, the scar actually came about _after _I was born and bore my father's surname. Say now… I wonder if we have the same bit of irony working for us." He motioned to Arthur's entirety, "Judging by _your_ face, were your parents siblings? Because that, too, would be _fitting_." Arthur clenched his jaw, and in response Skarr bared his teeth, gripping Juliet's purse tightly. Juliet swallowed hard and quickly waddled forward to slide between Arthur and the wall. She ducked between his arm and the door frame, her hand outstretched for her bag.  
"Thank you, Reginald…" she said softly. He regarded her curiously as he relinquished the purse.  
"Some cold," he remarked, "You've got quite a rash on your face and neck." Juliet ducked back inside quickly to avoid having to answer for the hand print still decorating her face. Arthur's free hand planted on the door frame and blocked her from peeking back outside should she feel so inclined.  
"Yes, it's a terrible disease she's afflicted with. Highly contagious." Skarr tilted his head up at Arthur, fixing him in an equally icy stare.  
"If that's the case, then I'm afraid it's too late for me," he replied nonchalantly, "Juliet and I were… quite friendly on my couch not so long ago."  
Juliet felt her heart stop and a blush rise at the same time. Her mouth dropped slightly behind the suddenly stiff back of her husband. Arthur's slim, arched brow raised ever so slightly.  
"Is that a fact…?" he asked of the man before him. Skarr checked the watch on his wrist.  
"Oh… only about thirty minutes ago now," he continued, "So if she was… so very ill… by then—which she must have been based on your insistence of her condition—I've quite caught what she currently has." Skarr bent down slightly to peer at Juliet under Arthur's rigid arm, and raised his hand slightly to wave.  
"Good evening, Juliet," he said lightly. He straightened, gave a last, withering look to Arthur, and turned swiftly on his heels, marching off the front steps. Arthur slammed the door almost immediately and glared accusingly over his shoulder at the woman behind him. Juliet reeled back from his expression, clutching her purse to her chest tightly.  
"I think…" her husband began softly, turning around to face her fully, "That we perhaps need a little reminder about the sanctity of marriage…"

Skarr was livid. Appalled and enraged. _That_ was Arthur? That sickly, pale, straw-haired lamppost of a man was the person Juliet had practically fled his home for? He sat at his desk in his study, hands folded under his chin as he thought. His record player turned in the background, and his second glass of whisky sat near his elbow, condensation beading on it. It didn't make sense. Juliet was the opposite of that spidery fellow in every conceivable way. He was bony. She was curved. He was pale pastels across his features, and she had such dark red hair and lips. He looked like a chunk of ice that had chipped off of a larger chunk of ice, and she seemed so… soft and warm. He frowned harder. So why? What was it?  
Maybe money. They appeared to have a very nice house. Larger than his. A more spacious yard, too (though piss-poor in appearance, he noted). He mentally kicked himself for not having noticed the ring on the woman's dainty little finger earlier. Could've saved him a lot of worry over this mystery man. Skarr scoffed to himself. If Juliet had sunk so far as to marry that frail little stick of a human being for something as trivial as _money_, she herself must have been quite destitute. He took a sip of his drink and leaned on his other hand.  
Maybe fear. Yes, he saw the hand print. No, he never thought it was a rash, not even for the barest second. He was infuriated that Arthur Greyson (he had discovered the man's surname by looking him up in the phone book) had even touched Juliet, let alone harmed her.  
Damn it all, she so obviously bruised like a peach.  
If you have to grab a woman, grab her where it won't show. He scowled and took another drink to douse the blush creeping onto his face at the thought. He certainly wouldn't have hurt her.  
He paused.  
Well, he would only hurt her in the best way possible… Downing the last of his drink, he tore his mind away from such thoughts. He would discuss her situation when she came by again on Wednesday. Part of him wondered if she still was coming at all. The other part was confident she would, and ordered him to prepare for her arrival. Something other than water to drink. Some snacks, too. By God, he wouldn't help unless asked. Helping anyone at all, ever, made his skin crawl. He only ever had his own well-being in mind. The thought of someone else's seemed like a heavy burden. He sighed heavily and leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers.  
If she did not come Wednesday, he would not pursue her. What went on with that blasted woman was none of his concern. However… if she _did _arrive to his door Wednesday, he would find out more about her home life, perhaps offer assistance. After all, he was once a military man with… a less crooked agenda than the one he held in his later years. It would take some tweaking, but he was confident he could become a straight-and-narrow do-gooder again.  
If only to maintain appearances.  
If only on the surface.  
He knew he was a dastardly man, a crooked bastard with dark intentions and a twisted mind. He knew it. Oftentimes he was proud of it. He just couldn't show it. But here, in his private study, there was no one to impress, no one watching, and so here, amongst his weapons, war memorabilia, and leftover pieces of the Evil Con Carne armory, he decided he was safe to sink into his own black mind. And that's precisely what he did. He wound up his phonograph again, poured another glass of whiskey, and began to delve into exactly what he wished he could have done earlier in the afternoon when he had seen that odd look in Juliet's eyes. When they had stood together in his living room right before she ran out the door.  
That little moment on her face when her blush was isolated to her cheeks. That soft red color.  
That flash of something naughty.


	7. Damp Carpet

Juliet sat on the edge of her bed, her toes barely brushing the cold wooden floor. She stared at the wall across from her, listening to the wind rocking the branches of the tree outside her bedroom window. She had only just gotten home. She knew that she had until six for Arthur to return from the firm, and she was cherishing these moments of peace. She wanted to pretend that she didn't have homework to grade or lessons to plan. She had felt so tired lately… Juliet knew she looked haggard; her students had told her just that for the past three days. In a week she would bounce back, but for now, what Arthur had put her through was wearing her down. She tried in vain for the umpteenth time to block it out, but she could still feel those icy, spidery fingers holding her down. That voice hissing horrible things in her ear. Some of the bruises still remained on her thighs.  
She rubbed her arms and shuddered, though there was no chill in the room she was unused to. She had but three hours, if that, before another long evening with her husband began again.  
This would never do. All this… moping. There were things to be done, and here she was wasting her precious time. If she kept this staring contest with the wallpaper up for much longer, why, that would mean Arthur had won whatever sick game he always insisted on playing with her. If she cowered under her blankets and crept around her own house on tiptoe he would laugh and feel a triumph Juliet sincerely _loathed_ to give him. No, she wouldn't cower anymore. There had been quite enough of that this week. To emphasize this thought, she stood up quickly and strode to her closet. Off with these pajamas she had so hurriedly changed into when she arrived home. Comfortable things to make her feel better, like security blankets. These were for sleeping in. She was a grown woman and her life was in control, and she would dress like it. She nodded to herself as she pushed aside her clothes hanging in her closet, searching for something to show to Arthur she wasn't quite so broken just yet. His punishments were becoming routine. Yes, even the forced sex… it wasn't the first time he had proven to her that she belonged solely to him.  
She knew it wasn't going to be the last.  
Just like the series of things she had to tell herself in order to keep her head up day after day. Be patient, you've made it this far. You'll find your way out soon. She was smart enough to know that Arthur was never going to change. She didn't need him to change. She needed a way for her to be able to cut all ties with him without shooting herself in the foot in the process. Arthur had more connections than most people knew about. A majority of these connections existed on the wrong side of the law. Juliet only knew that from things she had heard him say over the phone or from papers she had found lying around his office or their bedroom detailing money transfers that didn't seem quite right to companies that she had never heard of. To leave him could spell years of suffering in a completely different way, could ruin her. So she had to remind herself that her way out would come. He would get bored, perhaps. Divorce her, leave her for some other woman. Someone thinner, fair-haired, prettier. Naïve, like Juliet herself had once been…  
The thought made her sick. She didn't want that, either. She didn't want another woman to suffer as she had for more than ten years.  
She could manage it.  
She was strong enough to continue taking it, she felt.  
She took down a simple green dress and held it up to herself in the mirror, deflating slightly as she took in the image of herself. God, how she hated mirrors. Every part of her looked so… swollen and disproportioned. Her hair was too curly, her face too round, too pink. Her arms were too short, too soft, as they held the dress over her front. She could see the round form of her stomach under the fabric, and her hips were clearly visible behind the dress. It was Arthur's voice pointing out all these flaws, all these things that would make her undesirable to anyone else. It was Arthur's voice telling her how fortunate she was to be married to such a successful lawyer and how she mustn't ever get any ideas about pride or even contentment in her physical form. Juliet never tried to shake these sorts of thoughts away.  
These were the things she had come to accept as true.  
The Englishwoman turned away from the mirror and steeled herself, undoing the buttons of her dress. No, she had already made up her mind to be dressed, and would not be derailed. _Besides_, whispered a voice in her head, _You have somewhere to be this afternoon…_ Juliet took a sharp intake of breath, her hands freezing on the dress. She had forgotten about the haphazardly-thrown-together plans she had made with the man down the street. Hesitantly, she stepped into the dress and pulled it up over her hips. Oh, he wasn't serious. He couldn't have been.  
_He looked serious enough_, answered the voice. Juliet turned pink and huffed as she buttoned her dress up the front. Nonsense. Besides, they hadn't said a word to each other since he had returned her purse over the weekend. She hadn't even passed his house except in her car to go to work, and even then, she hadn't seen him toiling in his yard, not so early in the morning, and not when she returned in the afternoon (though the sprinklers were on at both these times each day). He must have forgotten all about it by now. She pulled on a pair of stockings and sat on the edge of her bed, adjusting the fabric on her legs, and tried to ignore how tight the material was. How silly would she feel if she walked to his home under the assumption their paper-thin planning was still on? That would be putting the poor man on the spot, obligated either to invite her in or turn her away. Both would be awkward, she knew.  
Nonetheless, she found herself walking to her vanity and sliding on a small pearl bracelet. She picked up the matching earrings and flipped her hair out of the way, focusing on her own eyes rather than how chubby her fingers were as they grappled with the small backs of each stud.  
Perhaps if she walked by his house again he would be out there in the yard. Maybe then he would remember his invitation, or they could start talking again, their special sort of banter, and then he could invite her in. That could work. She was bemused at her own rationalizing and scheming in order to gain access to Reginald Skarr's house again. For Heaven's sakes, he was just one man. A strange man at that. And what was one afternoon missed? She could stay at home instead. Avoid the whole encounter, there's an idea.  
As with most women, however, Juliet did not enjoy being all dressed up with nowhere to go. Besides, she had already put on her good jewelry.  
She also reasoned that she wouldn't stay very long anyway, she only had a little less than three hours free, and didn't want to spend them all switching back and forth between blushing and yelling with the neighbor man.  
Juliet applied fresh lipstick and replaced the cap on the tube, comforting herself more and more with each passing thought.  
A quick pop-in.  
If she wasn't received, she would merely thank him for returning her purse. There, that's a sound reason, isn't it? She had left herself with no other choice and no further excuses to avoid going. All her bases covered, as it were.  
And she would hate to have wasted all the effort it took to fix her pantyhose just right.  
Annoying things, stockings.  
She slipped her tiny feet into a pair of heels. Why wear heels? It wasn't a long walk, but it was still a walk. And who was she trying to impress with the shoes and dress?  
_Him_, the voice suggested flatly. Juliet puffed her cheeks in annoyance at none other than herself. Stop all that thinking. You know how you get when you overthink. You'll embarrass yourself _in front of _yourself. Become flustered. Change your mind. You've done enough of that already.  
She picked her purse up from the dresser as she left her bedroom, her blush not fading from her face in the slightest.

Juliet took very special care not to glance at Billy's house when she passed it, just in case the boy was watching and could take her sideways look as a challenge.  
She had enough of a headache as it was, and being assaulted again was not on her agenda. Instead she gripped her bag tighter and lifted her chin as she walked down the sidewalk, slowly passing the boy's front gate. Inwardly she felt she should be a bit more skittish. Not because of Billy, no, but because of Arthur. After all, once Skarr had left her front steps, her husband had been so infuriated by what the man had implied that he had seen fit to reclaim what he called his "strayed sheep". If he caught that same sheep returning to a place he had all but banned her from, she would surely suffer the consequences.  
Juliet told herself that she would suffer regardless, and Arthur would not be home until six anyway. Six at the earliest. He may stay late. But never before six. It wasn't quite four as of yet. She had time. She mustn't worry so.  
Still, the anxious feeling that gripped her chest refused to fade. In fact, it seemed to tighten when she pushed the wooden gate open and began to walk towards Reginald's house. Well, this wouldn't do. If this sort of thing kept up, she would collapse from lack of air. Juliet forced herself to take a deep breath, hands trembling for some odd reason as she climbed the few steps to the front door.  
Was she really so afraid of Arthur's wrath? She didn't _think _she was. But, the mind is a funny thing. Hilarious how it made her knees shake while she stood there, feeling for all the world like a big bowl of green Jell-O. Ridiculous. _Get a grip, Juliet, _her inner voice, suddenly impatient, commanded. The woman took another deep breath to ease her shaking, and lifted a hand to ring the doorbell. The chime had hardly started to sound when the door swung open.  
"I was starting to think you weren't coming," her neighbor said as soon as the door was wide enough to allow him to see her. Juliet blinked and withdrew her hand quickly.  
"I-I'm sorry," she began, "We never settled on a time… I-I've only just gotten off of work." Her explanation sounded lame, but to him it appeared to be a revelation.  
"Work?" he asked, as though the idea were foreign. It hadn't occurred to him that Juliet might actually do something other than stay at home, pester him, or go to the market. But of course she did. It was stupid of him to think otherwise, and he recovered from his surprise.  
"Right, right, right. Of course," he waved the sentence away as if it were an obnoxious fly, "That would explain it. All my fault for not settling on a time—"  
"No, no, it was mine. I didn't tell you my hours of work," Juliet insisted, touching a hand to her collar.  
"I never asked," Skarr pointed out.  
"I never asked yours."  
"Mine weren't relevant."  
"They're relevant now."  
Skarr paused, then stepped aside.  
"Something we can discuss over tea, I'm sure," he offered, motioning to the hall behind him. She tilted her head, smiled slightly, and stepped inside.  
The hall darkened considerably when the door shut behind her, as it had on her first visit.  
"Tea?" Juliet asked, turning slightly. He walked around her and led her into his kitchen.  
"I have fresh pot brewing," he replied, motioning to a kettle on the stove. Juliet set her bag down on the table, but kept her hand on it in case she were to forget about it and leave it again. Now that she was here, though, she wasn't in any sort of hurry to leave. Skarr seemed to just look at her for a moment, and a quick flash of self-consciousness flared in her chest. It was squelched when he hurriedly took hold of a chair and pulled it out from the table.  
"Excuse my… manners. Please, have a seat," he said quickly. Juliet blinked and blushed a soft pink, sitting down in the offered chair carefully.  
"Thank you."  
"Of course. He turned and busied himself with something on the far counter.  
"May I offer you something to eat?" he asked lightly, turning around with a plate of cookies, "They're snicker doodles. Still warm." Juliet looked between the man and his treats.  
"Still warm? You made them?" He straightened and set the plate down on the kitchen table.  
"I bake on occasion," he answered nonchalantly. Juliet said nothing, only scrutinized him while his back was turned. Who _was _this man? He seemed more like an enigma with every little thing she learned about him. Was he not the same man that had screamed at her on his doorstep a month ago, covered in blood and seething with rage? Was he not the man that had boiled her blood on multiple occasions with only a few short sentences? How could _they _be _him_? The Reginald Skarr she saw before her wore a pink, button-up, short-sleeved shirt and white khakis, and was meticulously arranging his homemade snicker doodles for her to enjoy.  
It boggled her mind. He looked over his shoulder when he had finished with the cookies and caught her staring at him. Juliet blinked and looked away, not fast enough. He turned his body and crossed his arms, looking down at her.  
"Something interesting on the back of my head, is there?"  
"N-no, no, I'm sorry… My mind was someplace else," Juliet covered quickly, waving a hand lightly as if to dismiss her being caught in the act.  
"Oh? And where was it?" he inquired, almost innocently. Juliet shook her head slightly.  
"Just… wandering." Skarr droned, unconvinced, but did not press. Instead he leaned on the kitchen table, tilting his head at her. It was his turn to scrutinize. She busied herself with a cookie and pretended not to notice his unnerving stare.  
"…now then," he began after a minute, "Where is it you work? I'd like to know what kept you from me all day." He thought about the sentence a second too late, and in response tried to cover for himself, "Seeing as I spent all morning thinking you had decided keeping your plans with me was not worth your time." Juliet looked up from the treat in her hands and shook her head quickly.  
"Oh, no!" she said, "No, I wasn't… I wouldn't do that." She motioned out the window in a vain attempt to draw his gaze away from her, "I'm a schoolteacher… I teach fourth year students at Endsville Elementary School."  
The kettle began to whistle shrilly, and Skarr crossed over to the stove to appease the screeching appliance.  
"Hm."  
Juliet didn't know what to make of this grunt. She thought it best to wait and see if he would say something else before offering more information.  
"Do you enjoy working there?" he asked as he poured two cups of tea. His tone was one of polite interest. Almost textbook. Juliet looked back down at her snicker doodle.  
"… I enjoy teaching very much."  
"That isn't what I asked," the man replied crisply, walking back to the table and setting her cup and saucer in front of her. He took a seat across the small table, fixing her in that stare of his. Juliet fiddled with the cookie. Skarr snorted lightly.  
"That's what I thought. I, myself, cannot _stand_ the place. Like an institution for crazed baboons instead of a learning facility for snot-nosed little brats." His tone was just as cool as before, even just as positive-sounding and polite. Juliet looked up and held her cookie closer to her.  
"You've been?"  
"I work there."  
"You do!" she exclaimed, sitting up straighter.  
"You're making a mess," Skarr said lowly, frowning at her, specifically the slightly-crushed snicker doodle in her hands. Juliet hurriedly set the cookie aside.  
"Excuse me… I suppose I'm just surprised. What is it you do there?" Skarr's frown remained concrete on his face.  
"The same thing I do for the courthouse and the hospital, whenever they decide they would like a bit more than mediocrity: I landscape." This time, he was the one who motioned out the window, outside of which sprawled his frankly fantastic garden. He looked back at her, the barest hint of pride in his eyes, hugely reflected in an arrogant smirk.  
"The school is the only place I work for that you might consider full-time," he went on, "…because the brats they let run amok in that building do unspeakable things to the lawn around it. Horrible things, Juliet. You have no idea…" He bared his teeth and lifted his cup, taking a quick sip. Juliet winced. She had some idea, actually.  
"…I haven't seen you there," she remarked. Skarr set his cup back down.  
"I forgot how often teachers herd their little pests out of doors for lessons."  
Juliet huffed, lifting her own cup and blowing on the tea gently.  
"Yes, well… I _have _been working there a month."  
"I only stay long enough to do a bit of damage control. During the day, it's pointless. Those little monkeys will wreck whatever I put time into when you let them outside to relieve themselves."  
"Recess."  
"Again, you have no idea the atrocities they'll commit on a perfect carpet of grass." Juliet grimaced and took a sip.  
"I see… and, I believe you…"  
"You should. Now, I usually arrive at about ten in the morning and stay till twelve. Then I go back later in the evening sometimes to ease the next day's burden."  
"Well, it's little wonder I haven't seen you. At ten I have class and at twelve I monitor the cafeteria."  
"You have a disgusting career, Juliet." Juliet puffed her cheeks indignantly.  
"Excuse me?" she demanded. Skarr shrugged slightly and took another sip of his tea. Juliet scowled and huffed, looking down at her own cup.  
"This is Oriental," she stated flatly. Skarr nodded.  
"Certainly better than anything you prefer, woman." Juliet wrinkled her nose in response, sniffing the flowery perfume of the drink.  
"I prefer Earl Grey," she responded haughtily, setting the cup back on its saucer. Skarr reached over and took a snicker doodle from the pile.  
"Earl Grey tastes like damp carpet," he sniffed, before taking a bite.  
"Oh!" Juliet turned slightly pinker in irritation, "What a rude thing to say!"  
"Rude, but true."  
"Being true doesn't make it any less rude."  
"Being rude doesn't make it any less true. Sometimes quite the opposite." Juliet picked up her cup with disdain.  
"And I suppose you've had so much damp carpet in your life that you know _precisely _what it tastes like and as such are an expert in the comparison between that and my favorite tea?"  
"Something of an expert. I've had a few women in my time, you know. I will admit they didn't all possess exactly the same flavor, however." Juliet choked on her tea and nearly dropped her cup. As she quickly replaced it and coughed loudly, gasping for a breath and flushed red in her face, Skarr didn't so much as blink.  
"But no matter the subtle differences, damp carpet is damp carpet, and your tea tastes almost exactly like it," he continued carelessly, taking another cookie. Juliet still had not yet regained her breath. He regarded her curiously.  
"Are you alright?"  
"How… H-how could you-?!" His eyebrow arched slightly, waiting for her to gather her breath or her senses, whichever she needed most to complete the sentence.  
"Why would you say such a thing? That's awful!" she exclaimed, pressing a hand to her heaving chest.  
"It's true. And let me stop you there before we start to repeat our conversations. That would be dull and pointless. Now, accept the fact that your 'favorite tea' tastes like a woman in the throes of oral pleasuring and move on. I think perhaps you and I could have lunch together one day while at work." Juliet spluttered at his sudden change of topic, still reeling from his bluntness.  
"B… what?"  
"Lunch," he repeated, "If not, I would only come home to eat. I can manage to stay an extra thirty minutes if you would eat with me, however."  
"Will you be making any more lewd comments?!" she accused loudly. He chuckled.  
It wasn't a particularly friendly sound.  
The way his eyes were narrowed, it didn't look humored, either.  
"Oh, it's quite possible, my dear. I told you once before: I am not a decent person. I have no sense of propriety," he droned, swirling a hand in the air dramatically, his sarcasm practically dripping out of his pores, "As such, I could very likely tell you all sorts of lewd things. Much worse than that. Then again, perhaps not quite so bad as well. Perhaps nothing lewd at all. It's a gamble, Juliet."  
The schoolteacher glared across the table, still a soft red.  
"I would prefer not to hear such things."  
"I would prefer not to toil away at a half-dead lawn day after day just so some more naughty brats can ruin it beyond recognition in a few hours. Sometimes we don't get what we want."  
"Then I shall not eat lunch with you."  
"Then you will miss out on all the horrible things I could say." Juliet crossed her arms across her chest.  
"That's precisely the point." Skarr chuckled his in his menacing way again, and she turned slightly redder. Not from anger, though, that she knew.  
"Oh, but don't do that," he said lowly, sipping his tea, "You'll make me think you don't want to hear them."  
"I don't," she insisted. Skarr tisked, looking down at his steaming cup.  
"Oh, but I think you do…" This time her answer was not so quick. She blushed a darker shade of red and looked down at her own cup.

Skarr watched her avoid his gaze just like she was avoiding his accusation. What an odd woman. She wore it on her face, didn't she know that? It wasn't just anger that brought about that tomato-red blush on her cheeks, nor could it be just embarrassment. Silence hung in the air, and for once he was willing to let it for a bit.  
It would give the neighbor woman time to stew in her own thoughts.  
Time to ponder her next sentence.  
Truthfully, Skarr was gambling. If he pushed too much, he may infuriate her beyond repair and she would leave in a huff, joining all the other neighbors in their unspoken (or perhaps occasionally-spoken) dislike of him. However, he knew if he did not push at all, she would certainly never take any leap of faith. He was gauging her responses, her reactions to everything he said. Clearly she was uncomfortable about the topic of sex.  
How stuffy.  
That being the case, he would certainly use it to his advantage, use it to drive the woman into a tizzy, a little ruffled ball of embarrassment and frustration.  
"Come now, Juliet," he said eventually, "You can't just ignore me. You're my guest. You have certain obligations in my house just as I do." He looked back to his cup and finished the last of his tea. Juliet looked up quickly and said:  
"I'm married."  
This statement threw him for only a second. He did not allow it to show. Instead he took his third snicker doodle from the plate and tilted his head at it in a studying way.  
"Yes, I know. I don't believe that's relevant though. Do you?" There was an accusatory tone in his voice, and she blanched.  
"My husband… would not appreciate a lewd conversation, sir… Or… lunch with another man."  
"I take it he does not approve of much." Juliet said nothing, and he took a bite of his cookie. He chewed for a bit, thinking while he looked over her determined, slightly suspicious face, then swallowed.  
"He would only disapprove of the conversations if you told him about the conversations, which I doubt you would do, as that would require explaining what was said and you don't strike me as the sort to repeat words such as 'fucking' or 'fellatio'." Juliet pursed her lips tightly and furrowed her brow in a disdainful way. He continued as though he did not notice, and his smirk edged its way back onto his features.  
"Furthermore, we would only be having lunch. That's only forty-five minutes or so, and in a crowded cafeteria loaded with screaming, smelly children and various messes on the floors and walls. What is it? Do you think he would be jealous?" Juliet looked down at her lap and folded her hands. Skarr finished his cookie and waited for her to respond, adding: "He's also a complete arse." Juliet frowned at his choice of words, but did not protest.  
"…I suppose I could manage lunch between two coworkers…" she said softly. Skarr's chest tightened suddenly, and he nearly winced at the sensation. Instead, he stood up, taking both their cups to the sink and rinsing them out. He set them on the rack to dry and looked back at her.  
"There now. No harm will come of it, so no need to look as though you may vomit. I keep my floors very clean." Juliet frowned at him, and he continued to smirk.  
"Oh, don't look like that… You haven't heard half of the horrible things I usually think. I keep them to myself."  
"Well, what a relief," she said sarcastically.  
"Of course," he went on, going back to the table, "That was before I was aware I could infuriate you with such simple sentences. It's a fascinating thing, really. I look forward to finding out what else makes you blush." At the mere thought, she immediately turned red again. He flashed his teeth in a wicked, cruel grin, and she shivered.  
He folded his hands on the table and leaned forward slightly.  
"Chilly…?" he asked, tilting his chin up and looking at her past his nose. Juliet shook her head, blushing darker.  
"No. Not at all."  
"It's warm in here to you, then?"  
"Ye-no." Juliet swallowed hard, "No, no, not… I'm not warm. It isn't… warm in here. I'm… quite comfortable." He narrowed his eyes, looking once more like a cat that had caught a mouse. She shifted in her chair slightly under his penetrating gaze.  
"Are you sure? You look a bit… constricted." The woman looked away quickly.  
"I'm perfectly fine. May we discuss something else?" Skarr shook his head.  
"I'm afraid not, Juliet. You see, interrogation used to be one of my special skills. I enjoyed it quite a bit. Something of a talent, really, though I will admit to being a little… rusty." He leaned forward on his elbows, locking his finger together.  
"Why? Do I make you uncomfortable? Uneasy?" Juliet hesitated, and he went ahead.  
"That's perfectly fine, my dear. Acceptable. Partially my goal." She narrowed her steely gray eyes at him.  
"Your… goal?" He nodded once.  
"I'm an odd man," he admitted, "And more than a little curious. I want to see precisely how strange you are, Juliet. You've already proven to me that you are not exactly normal." Before she could protest or question him, he cut her off.  
"Let's not pretend you don't know what I'm talking about when I mention your last visit." As if on cue, her blush intensified.  
"There now, no use in denying that fiery shade on your cheeks, hm?" Skarr drummed his fingers on the table lightly, "All I ask of you for now, Juliet, is that you have lunch with me tomorrow. If it fails, then it fails, and we can both pretend that we are nothing more than neighbors and cannot be friends…" he practically hissed the word, his jaw clenched, "…but if it succeeds against all odds and we hit it off with that little session, it will become a permanent part of your schedule. Sound fair?" Juliet blinked.  
"…you mean… all this to try and be friends?"  
"It's a start, hm? And don't say it like that, as if it's strange."  
"It _is _strange."  
"Well, the way I see it…" he started lowly, looking to the potted centerpiece beside his hands, "I don't completely loathe your company. I despise the school. I assume it's beneficial to my blood pressure to talk out my anger rather than bottle it up until it explodes in a fit of blind rage on one of the neighborhood dogs. And you… well, you need something just a little different… don't you, Juliet?"  
The woman stared at him hard, so clearly trying to fend off her blush.  
"…Alright, Reginald. We can certainly have lunch tomorrow."  
"Excellent. And we will also do this again tomorrow."  
"This? You mean—"  
"You can come over while your husband is out." Juliet paused.  
"…you make it sound so—"  
"Naughty?" His lips curved in a crooked grin, like a crack creeping across a piece of glass in which his now-visible teeth were the shards.  
"Oh, Juliet. It's that exactly."


	8. Intrigue

_**(Author's Note: I appreciate the honest and positive reviews this story has received thus far, and hope to update at least once a week. The rating of this story will also shift soon from Teen to Mature within the next few chapters. Stay posted, my beasties.)**_

Juliet was surprised at how orderly the line of children following behind her looked Thursday afternoon. Yes, there was jostling, and yes, there was a constant buzz of high-pitched, incessant chatter, but at least it was a _line._ She wanted to congratulate the children, maybe offer to bring them in a reward for this one small act of obedience, but she was far too afraid to jinx it, and so she kept her mouth shut as she led the children to the school's cafeteria. She stopped and held the door open for her students as they scurried off into yet another line for their lunches. Odd as it was, it was the little things she enjoyed the most. Without their usual psychotic behavior, those excited, chubby-cheeked faces almost looked innocent.

Almost.

She had at least learned not to underestimate any child at the school. She had also taken to some stronger headache medication. Of a different brand than her old one. She had the suspicion that perhaps the previous brand gave her hallucinations. She had no other explanation for some of the stranger things she had seen in the cafeteria or walking through the halls. Horrible, terrifying things.

And not the usual sort from her bunch.

Thankfully not her students at all, but students nonetheless. Tentacled creatures or unnerving glares from the children that fell under the care of Eleanor Butterbean.

Not her problem. Not even real, that would be ridiculous. Best up the medication, she thought.

Juliet let the door shut behind her and stood in place for a moment, taking a sweeping glance of the large, chilly room. It was a comforting sort of chaos. The sound of the children was almost a hum, a bit like an engine running. It didn't appear anyone was fighting, either, which was a very good sign. She took a deep breath and made her way to the front of the cafeteria, following behind her students.

Across the room, practically pressed against the wall, stood Reginald Skarr. He had seen her come in and now only bided his time. He loathed being in the school at all. It reeked of snot-nosed little children and rang with their constant, shrill cries. The lunchroom was the worst place of all, he thought. He had no intention of sitting amongst all these screaming piglets while they stuffed their faces full of government-ordered slop. No, he was going to drag that woman out of this cesspool the moment he could. But for now, he clung to the shadowy side of the lunchroom. Children didn't like him, anyway, and the sight of him inspired in the little ingrates the same hatred he felt for them.

It would be a brawl, and a hundred to one was not a fair fight (never mind the fact that he was an adult and even if he did win, he would surely go to prison, which he was so desperately trying to avoid). So, perhaps it was for the best he stayed out of sight for now.

Juliet bought herself a small salad and a bottle of water. For a second it appeared she had every intention of joining the other teachers at the head of the cafeteria, as she no doubt was used to doing by now. She stopped in her tracks, then turned her head, scanning the room once more.

_Aha._

She didn't know why he stood all the way over there, almost hidden behind a pillar. The sun did not reach that wall, and there were no children occupying the tables nearby, as if the whole area was taboo. She clutched her water tighter and noted how much it reminded her of a badly-directed horror film in which the homicidal maniac was so clearly in view, and yet the victim meandered towards him like a lamb to the slaughter.

Her analogy did not fill her with positive feelings, and she had to remind herself that this man was just her neighbor. Her strange, strange neighbor. And being strange did not mean that one was a maniac.

Although she had to admit it seemed to be a recurring factor in Hollywood films.

She stood in the sun, as the cafeteria was cold enough without being cloaked in shadow, and tilted her head at him.

"There you are," she said, "I nearly forgot about our lunch."

"That would have been incredibly rude of you, now, wouldn't it?" He cast a cursory glance behind her, then motioned.

"I suggest we eat outside." Juliet furrowed her brow.

"I have to monitor the lunch, I can't just leave."

"Of course you can. Put one foot in front of the other—"

"I mean it wouldn't be allowed."

"Well, I'm not eating in this concrete circus tent," Skarr huffed, apparently having his final word on the discussion. Juliet bristled slightly.

"_Well,_" she replied, "I am not eating outside."

"Then we have an impasse. Don't be stubborn, Juliet."

"You're the one being stubborn. Why won't you eat in here?" He curled his lip at her. She caught a glint of the artificial lighting reflecting off of his teeth.

"I find myself lacking in appetite the longer I stay in here amongst these animals."

"Reginald!" Juliet frowned hard, "They're children!"

"Please. They're barely paper-trained." Juliet pursed her lips. He continued just as flippantly as before.

"Come now, Juliet. It's a lovely day today, and it isn't _freezing_ outside. And there is no screaming. Or, at least, less screaming." He motioned to the double doors which led to the breezeway and beyond.

"And I'm hungry enough to not offer you much time in making your decision." Juliet huffed.

"Fine. If you're so hungry."

"I am. This planning has set me back a solid forty-five minutes.

"Oh, dear. However shall you recover?"

"Such biting wit," he mused, rolling his eye. He followed her to the doors and, in one quick motion, reached out to hold the door for her before she could do so herself. Juliet thanked him with a nod of her head and exited the lunchroom.

It was warm outside, he hadn't been telling a lie. Juliet shivered at the sudden increase in temperature.

"I wonder why they keep it so cold…"

"It's not them," Skarr answered, closing the door, "It's the constant presence of death."

'Now, that's morbid," Juliet frowned. He shrugged lightly and motioned to a bench next to a small picnic table. The set was one of three sitting out in the sun.

Juliet walked over and set her lunch items down, looking around.

"What a beautiful lawn," she remarked. Skarr set his lunch down across from her, but did not look around as she did.

"Yes, I know," he replied simply, unpacking his food. Juliet furrowed her brow at him, but let it slide. After all, lunch was such a small window of time. Too small to argue about such little things. At least, she was going to try not to.

"Are you in a mood today, Reginald?" she asked as she sat, tearing open a small packet of salad dressing. He raised an eyebrow at his lunch, still busying himself with it.

"A mood? No, never." Juliet thought this answer sounded very sarcastic, and was not happy with it one bit.

"Reginald."

"I told you I despise being here," he reminded her. Juliet sighed heavily, mixing up her salad.

"Well, forgive me for not lifting your spirits," she muttered. He looked up.

"That isn't what I said. Don't take it out of context," he snapped. Juliet cut her eyes at him and stabbed a piece of lettuce.

"Then what's bothering you?"

"Nothing. I just look like this."

"How unfortunate."

"You would not be the first to say so." Juliet sighed in exasperation and set her fork down.

"Is this the only way we can talk to one another?" she asked. He looked up again, and seemed genuinely perplexed.

"How do you mean?" Juliet made a few hand motions.

"This back and forth," she explained, "It's so… exhausting." Skarr furrowed his brow. He rather liked the banter. Did she not?

"…Then what do you suggest?" he asked, picking up his sandwich. Juliet made a small sound of humor, a single _ha!_

"I was thinking a normal conversation! With all the usual small-talk and the pointless questions." He frowned. He hated those.

"Just give it a try," Juliet pressed, giving him a sarcastic look, and she picked up her for again, "How was your day?" He took a bite of his lunch and frowned, thinking as he chewed.

"…Loathsome," he replied eventually. Juliet groaned, rolling her eyes.

"Perhaps that was a little _too _simple for you… let's try something else."

"Oh, goody." Juliet stabbed another piece of lettuce and looked at him hard.

"You're a very talented gardener. Where did you learn to do all this? Or was it just natural talent?" She bit down on her lettuce and watched him for a response. His face seemed to soften just a little around the eyes, but his frown remained hard. He was chewing again. God knows how long it would take. Perhaps he was doing it on purpose. Oh, that would be just like him, rebelling against her suggestion of small-talk by being insufferable.

"I had to learn on my own," he said eventually, "I had no one to teach me. It seemed liked something I could manage in a small amount of time that wasn't too difficult. I had heard it relaxes people. God knows I needed that." He sounded bitter, and she did not understand why.

"Are you so terribly stressed?" The gardener looked at her with an expression similar to that of being insulted in the highest form.

"You haven't the _slightest_ idea," he said darkly. Juliet did not let her surprise at his tone show on her face and busied herself with a cucumber slice.

"Well, what could you have to be so stressed over?" she pressed, which was easier to do without eye-contact. Again, his answer took some time.

"…old wounds and current nuisances," he eventually offered. It was vague and, to the teacher, unsatisfactory.

"I find your answer vague and unsatisfactory," she replied lightly.

"I don't give a damn what you think about my answer," he retorted, just as lightly. Juliet chewed thoughtfully on a grape tomato, watching her fork tap-tap-tap away at the plastic side of her container.

"I told you I don't like swearing," she reminded him, still keeping her gaze lowered.

"I told you that that wouldn't stop me. And what's so interesting about that salad of yours?" He sounded irritated. Slightly more so than usual. Juliet pursed her lips.

"Nothing at all. Why won't you give me a proper answer?"

"Why is it your business?"

"It isn't my business, but you can't expect us to move on from anything but banter if you don't allow me to become more personal with you."

"I'm not the one who thinks that we need to have anything other than banter." Juliet said nothing. It would hide her hurt a little better. Skarr waited for her response. After a few bites she still had not said anything, and he realized she was choosing to stay quiet, possibly an attempt to give him the cold shoulder. His right hand clenched around his bottle of water tightly.

He didn't want that, no.

She was ignoring him like everyone else ignored him.

After a few more seconds, he asked, tentatively:

"…If I tell you a little more, will you look at me…?" Juliet's head snapped up quickly. For a second she wasn't sure if the small question had come from the man across from her, because his face was still twisted into its characteristic hard scowl.

"…it would be easier to look at someone I consider a friend than a combative acquaintance."

"I thought we were having this lunch as friends," Skarr replied, now trying to steer the conversation away from his personal files.

"Friends generally know more about one another than names, addresses, and jobs."

"Do they?" he asked, feeling successful at his redirecting.

"Don't they?"

"I wouldn't know." Juliet blinked.

"…what do you mean, you wouldn't know? Haven't you had friends before?"

Damn this woman and her skills of redirecting his redirection. He frowned harder and tapped his fingers on the cap of his water bottle, glaring at it instead of at her.

"Not really," he muttered, almost carelessly, "Friends are like pets you aren't obligated to feed… only they can be twice as obnoxious and not always house-trained."

"What sort of friends have you had?" Juliet wondered aloud, incredulous.

"I was what you would call 'friends' with a bear, once," he answered automatically. Juliet laughed lightly in response.

"A bear? Where on Earth did you come across a bear?"

"I _worked_ for the bear," he snapped, flicking his dark gaze up to her face. She stopped laughing and hunched slightly.

"… A caretaker… isn't… quite what I…"

"I wasn't a caretaker. At least, I wasn't paid to be one. Technically speaking, I didn't work for the bear, itself, but the thing I did work for was decidedly not my friend. So." Juliet looked less surprised and more confused.

"I… don't understa—"

"I didn't expect you to," he interrupted, preferring now to charge ahead rather than backpedal away from his sudden honest streak, "Let me just say that after the military, my particular set of skills were sought after by a… man… with less-than-righteous aspirations." Juliet furrowed her brow, setting her fork down, her attention fully focused on the man before her.

"Less-than-righteous… meaning—"

"Villainy," he interrupted again, looking back to his bottle cap.

"Villainy," Juliet repeated, keeping her puzzled expression.

"Yes, actual villainy. We, that is, the organization I was a part of, did not work for a particular country or government authority. In fact, we opposed all established authority in favor of our own." Juliet sat in silence for a moment, pondering over this information.

"… You mean in order to establish a new world order?"

"Precisely. Smart girl…" he growled, narrowing his eyes at the bottle cap and his own fingers frantically tapping at it. Juliet turned a slight pink. It was fleeting.

"But…" She seemed to pause yet again in her thinking, her mouth open, frozen mid-sentence, "…Oh, but you're joking!" Skarr looked up slowly.

This was not the reaction he had expected.

Juliet waved a chubby hand at him.

"Yes, you're trying to trick me!" She managed a light, slightly forced laugh, "And you nearly did it. New world order, indeed…" She chuckled again, mostly to herself, and her neighbor merely watched her, unsure of his next step. He could easily laugh it off and walk away from it, leaving the woman none the wiser. Of course, he would have to fabricate an alternative truth the next time she asked him to be less vague, but he could certainly do that. However, the former general was not so inclined to lie to the small schoolteacher before him, nervously laughing off her embarrassment and this entire awkward conversation.

Some part of him also wanted desperately to prove this same little woman wrong. What was so funny? Did she not think he had the look and skills for a villain bent on world domination? Even if his story of villainy was unconventional and strange, it wasn't a joke. He frowned at the thought.

"I can prove it," he growled. Juliet kept her cheerful smile, but no laugh accompanied it.

"I'm sure you can, dear," she replied lightly. He bared his teeth. Juliet's smile vanished like a switch had been flipped, and she hunched slightly, staring at the snarl on the man's face.

"You seem to doubt me, Juliet," he said quietly, narrowing his eyes at her, straightening while he talked, "And I have every intention of proving you wrong. Per usual. Not today. In time. I just want you to bear in mind that one day, and the day will come, you will understand exactly what sort of man I am. I take my… pastimes… very seriously." Juliet did not respond, and when he had looked away from her, she let out a small sigh. Whether he could prove it or not, Juliet did not really care. She was almost certain that Reginald Skarr was a villain.

In some form or another.

However, she was completely sure of the fact that she was not afraid of him.

At least, she didn't think she was.

The only thing she knew she felt towards this man was intrigue. A heavy desire to pick apart that mysterious outer shell he had thrown up every time he talked to her.

Villain or no, she was fascinated.


End file.
